The Village Idiot
by KnHime-2
Summary: (Humanized) The year 1543, the small nation of Fructis Olus is on the brink of revolution. Its leader's oaf of a son complicates things when he "kidnaps" the Kings goddaughter, Petunia Rhubarb. But plans go astray... (LxP, not OOC, rating subject to change)
1. Life: Beginning and Ending

Yeah, this is a weird scenario I came up with. The first chapter may not seem very Veggietales-ish, but hopefully it will change. There's no familiar characters in this chapter, but bear with me, it's important.

_April 9, 1520_

* * *

It had started out to be such a lovely day.

In the small but prosperous nation of Fructis Olus, Queen Frances had just given birth to her third son, and preparations were under way for the new prince's christening and official naming ceremony. At three o clock in the afternoon, one of King Hugh's bodyguards caught a cloaked man sneaking around the east wing, where the royal family resided.

He was found to be carrying knives.

Shortly afterwards, some scullery maids saw two men trying to climb the walls outside the kitchen window, and they (the maids) ran screaming for help. Another shadowy figure managed to creep into the very room where Crown prince Robert was having his geography lesson, but his teacher apprehended said figure with a large textbook, then grabbed the prince and ran out calling for the guards.

Before everyone knew it, the palace was under a full blown siege. The king met up with Captain Turnipus, leader of the palace guards. "First and most obvious question: Do you have any idea who our attackers are?" "Not entirely sure. We don't think they came from outside the kingdom; they couldn't get past our border patrol. Hardly anybody's crazy enough to attack the royal family in their very home, but the flu epidemic that's been going around has left many of my men incapacitated." The monarch wasted no time. "Make sure the Queen, princes, and as many people possible are safe." "Right away, Sire!" Turnipus saluted, then barked the orders to his subordinates.

* * *

Queen Frances was disturbed from her nap by a loud thump in the adjoining room where the baby was. The thump was followed by a scuffling sound. "Nettie," She called one of her ladies-in-waiting. "Yes ma'am?" "Did you hear a noise coming from the nursery?" the older woman shook her head. "No Milady. Are you sure you weren't dreaming?" The queen frowned. "Pretty sure, but could you check on Nurse and the baby, just to be on the safe side?" "Certainly ma'am." Nettie trotted in her brisk way into the other room. Frances began to settle back into her pillow. _It's probably nothing, _she told herself. _You're worrying too much. _

Suddenly there was a horrified screech that made the Queen bolt back upright. Nettie came rushing back in, eyes wide as platters. "THE BABY'S GONE!" Frances swore her heart stopped cold in her chest. _"What?!"_ Her assistant grabbed a bedpost to steady herself, gasping like a trout in the bottom of a boat. "Nurse is tied and gagged… the cradle's empty…"before she could finish there was a hearty knock at the main door to the Queen's chambers, and then it was opened. Standing there was Lieutenant Kale, Turnupis' second in command, with at least six of the guards. "Your Highness, there are intruders in the castle…" "And they've kidnapped the baby!" Frances interrupted. Kale's mouth remained open as the words sank in. "Seriously?" The two women glared simultaneously. "You think I'd joke about a thing like this?" The Second-in-command raised his hands in defense. "Forgive me your Grace!" He then muttered to himself. "Either they're very fast, or we're really rusty."

The Queen threw back her covers. "Go get the Princes Robert and Mark right away, and someone untie Nurse!" "We areon top of _that_ Milady, We've already got the two princes together with the Geography tutor in a safe location. We"ll commence the search for the youngest immediately." He then turned to one of the guards accompanying him. "You go and release the Nursemaid." The soldier nodded and obeyed. "You," Kale turned to another, especially strong looking guard. "Stay with the Queen and help her get to the designated area safely. The rest of you will accompany me."

The group separated. As the guard designated to watch the queen entered the room, she placed her feet on the floor. "Nettie, please go get my shawl and slippers." The lady looked at her with astonishment. "Surely your Highness isn't thinking of walking at this time?" "I have to." Frances said emphatically. The guard spoke up. "It would be no trouble to carry you, Milady." "No thank you, I'll be fine." The queen donned her shawl and shoes. "But you just had a baby." Nettie interjected." "Three days ago." The Queen specified, staggering to her feet. "And now it's has been taken from me and my family is in danger." She gave a wry grin. "No sir, I'm not sitting around while _that _happens." She took a few wobbly but determined steps, The guard and her companion supporting both arms.

The three of them made their way down the Halls, on their highest alert, the guard bringing up the rear with sword in hand. While Frances seemed calm on the outside, she was praying frantically on the inside.

_Lord, protect my son, all my sons, my husband, and those who live in these walls. _As she prayed, she began to feel calmer. _I submit my family to you; please let them save my baby and bring our attackers to justice. If it isn't your will, please give us all peace, no matter what happens: don't let us become bitter… _

Suddenly (she didn't know how she even noticed it), there was a sound like a moan. The guard heard it too. "Wait." He looked around the halls to find the source of the noise. They heard it again. "Who's there?" The guard demanded. At first there was silence, then a feeble voicewhimpered. "Could you help me?" It sounded like a woman. "Where are you?" The Queen asked. "Over here." "It sounds like it's coming from over there." Nettie pointed towards one of the doors. The body guard strode forward. "Let me handle this, it could be a trap." He opened the oak door, and the two women leaned forward to get a closer look.

The door opened to a stairwell, with a figure leaning heavily against the wall a few steps down. It was a maidservant, a little bit younger than the queen…

And extremely pregnant.

The guard looked to the Queen for further instruction. "Please help her." The matriarch told him. The soldier quickly ran to the girl, then lifted her into his arms as carefully as he could. "Oh, thank you!" the maid said in relief.

When she was brought into the hall, she recognized the woman in the nightgown. "You're Highness! Oh, wow, this is so embarrassing; I'm sorry or not curtseying." "No, please don't apologize!" Frances told her with a friendly smile. "This sort of thing catches us all unawares." The girl nodded. "Don't I know it? I'm not due for another two weeks, but I heard shouting and that we were being attacked, I was so frightened. The pains just came, I tried to go downstairs to get away from the noise, but I didn't even make it down five steps." "We'd better get moving." The guard said. "Oooooh!" The girl gasped. "They're already getting stronger!" "Deep breaths." Nettie told her, and she inhaled slowly.

The strange party made their way down the hall, rather slowly. The queen tried to engage the maidservant in conversation to keep her distracted, and the girl answered between breaths. "What's your name, honey?" "Rebecca… Rebecca Rhubarb." "That's a pretty name! What do you do?" "I make… beds and… clean…the rooms." She paused to catcher breath. "My husband works in the … the gardens… in the… northeast edge… but not the…corner." "I've seen those flowers: they're gorgeous."

They began to make their way down a stairway. Frances continued. "What's your husband's favorite flower?" "Same as mine: petunias." "Those are very pretty." Frances agreed, " don't remember seeing them in the castle gardens, though." "No Ma'am. They're… considered to be too… common." Frances looked indignant "But they're so colorful and cheery." She smiled. "Maybe I'll have a little talk with the master groundskeeper." Rebecca blinked in astonishment "You'd do that?" "Of course." The queen said, reaching over to pat her shoulder. "I see no reason why average garden flowers can't mingle with the rarer ones." The maid gave a small laugh. "No Ma'am."

The guard interrupted. "We're almost to the assigned room, your Grace." "Does it have a bed?" The Queen asked, motioning to Rebecca. The Girl's eyes widened. "Oh no no, Your Highness! I really shouldn't…" "I've already had my baby." The ruler interrupted. "Now It's your turn, and that's an order!" Rebecca gave her a grateful smile. "How can I ever thank you enough?"

* * *

Meanwhile, the King had received news of the infant prince's kidnapping, and was anxiously awaiting further intel. " We've heard a bunch a noise, and we've grabbed a few of the rotters: mostly men, some women, but we've seen neither hide nor hair of the prince." " But who _are _they?" "There have been a few," Captain Turnipus said. "Some of the individuals have surrendered, they mention an organization called S.U.N." "I've never heard such a thing." The Monarch admitted. Before Turnipus could say more, another soldier came rushing in, eyes wide and breathless. "Captain, the intruders have retreated and are gathering in front of the Main entrance! They demand an audience with the King!" "You've gotta be kidding! That is one of the stupidest things I've heard all day!" Turnipus remarked. "Why would they gather in a visible place where we can get at them? And they expect us to just do whatever they ask?" King Hugh turned to the Captain. "They have my son, this could be a hostage situation." Turnipus shifted uneasily "I don't like the sound of this, but you make the final call, My Liege."

* * *

The King stood on the parapet over the gate, flanked on either side by several archers with crossbows cocked. Clustered before him on the ground was a small group on horseback. At the distance, it was difficult to make out their faces, or any other detail. Both parties just stared at each other for a good ten minutes, the tension and hostility in the air was almost tangible.

After a tense silence, one of the horse bound men drew his horse just a little nearer then stopped, the Archers tensed. "Get me a spyglass!" The king hissed to one of the soldiers.

After someone handed him one, He focused it on the man closest, who had not moved since. He stared at the figure, seeing a familiar lean figure with hard-bitten features and a brown beard, a pair of needle gray eyes glaring directly at him, as if aware of the glass, mouth pressed into a thin line. "Good Lord!" "What is it, Sire?" Hugh was shaking now, either from fear or rage. "It's Burdock!"

As if this had been a cue, The figure drew back his cloak, and held up what it had concealed.

An unmistakable bundle.

Then turned and fled with the rest of his group, the challenge clear.

The King spun around to Turnipus. "Monster! Devil! Stop him! Save My son!" "I'm way ahead of you." Turnipus ran down the stairs, "Someone grab my horse, everyone saddle up!"

* * *

The Queen and the other three had finally made it to the designated room. No sooner was Rebecca lowered into bed then Frances began removing the girl's shoes and stockings. "Nettie, we need water and blankets." "I'm on it." The handmaid answered, running into the washroom. The Guard stood to the side, looking more and more uncomfortable with each passing minute. "Erm… I should probably keep vigil outside." "Do whatever you must." Frances told him patiently. Then Rebecca let out a yelp, and the soldier turned the color of chalk and collapsed into a chair. "I… just need to rest for a moment." "Hold her hand!" The Queen told him. "B-but my Lady…" "Hold. her. hand." The man gingerly obeyed. Frances brushed the hair from Rebecca's sweaty forehead. "Don't worry, it's almost over."

* * *

News of the attacker's retreat quickly spread, and the palace residents breathed a collective sigh of relief, only for some to resume panicking when they tried to find their loved ones. Among the more frantic ones was a young red-haired manservant, asking the same question to everyone he ran into. "Have you seen my wife? She's blonde, very pretty, and very… pregnant. Has anyone seen her?"

While he was searching the servant's dining hall, a middle aged woman wearing the olive-green dress worn by the Queen's Ladies-in-waiting waved him over. "Are you Henry Rhubarb?" He showed annoyance at being slowed in his search. "Yes." "And your wife is Rebecca?" He froze. "You've seen her?! Where is she?!" The woman gave him a calm smile, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Relax; She's safe and sound, and so is your wee one." Henry gasped again. "You mean…?" "Congratulations, you have a healthy baby girl!" "A girl." He echoed in a faraway tone. Then a huge grin broke its way across his face. He turned to the others gathered in the hall. "Did you hear that everyone? I have a girl!" everyone cheered as Nettie took his arm and led him away. "Come with me: They're with the Queen."

"Th-the _Queen_?!"

* * *

Sure enough, Rebecca had given birth to a girl: a lovely, rosy little thing with Henry's orange hair and bright green eyes. She was a bit on the small side, what with being a couple weeks late and all, but she cried easily and remained alert. Henry and Nettie came into the room to find the two women cooing over the baby, and the body guard slumped in a chair, recovering from a faint.

Henry ran to his wife's side. "Sweetie…" He began. Rebecca smiled, holding up the baby. "Look what I've got." The gardener looked on the verge of tears. "She's beautiful! I can't even believe _how _beautiful!" The little one peered at him with equal curiosity, before giving a tiny yawn. "Can I hold her?" "Of course." His wife handed over the precious bundle. He just stared in awe for a few minutes. Then the Queen asked "I know it's early, but any ideas for the name?" The young couple exchanged knowing smiles. "I think we have one settled." Henry said. Then Rebecca looked thoughtful. "The first name at least." She specified.

She turned to the ill guard. "Excuse me, good sir." The man sat up, still woozy. "Huh… What?" "What's your name?" The soldier looked surprised. "Oh… Um, Michael Collard, Miss." Rebecca turned back to her husband. "How do you like 'Michelle' for a middle name?" Henry beamed "I think that's a great idea!" Collard looked flabbergasted. "But… all I did was get sick." "You carried her to safety." The queen reminded him. "You kept all of us safe." "Yes," Rebecca affirmed. "I wouldn't have made it to this room without you." "And for that," Henry continued. "We're more than grateful." Collard blinked for a moment, then smiled.

"So, what's the child's name?" Nettie asked, unable to take the suspense. The new parents beamed. "Petunia Michelle Rhubarb." Rebecca answered. Everyone gazed at the little one whohad managed to bring joy in a harrowing situation.

Suddenlythe door opened and everyone looked to see the King himself walk in. "Hugh!" The Queen ran toward him, a million questions poised on the tip of her tongue. But they were all forgotten when she saw the forlorn, haunted look on his face. He slowly looked up at her. "I heard that Robert and Mark are safe with their tutor." He murmured in a far away voice "Yes." Frances confirmed. "Well at least they…" His voice began to waver. The Queen grasped his hands. "Honey, what happened?"

For a minute, the Monarch was silent, staring at his feet, before taking a deep breath, then looking up. "Richard Burdock was the one behind the attack." Frances' jaw dropped. "The villain!" "He wanted revenge," Hugh continued. "…and he got it." A chill went up the Queen's spine. "What did he do?" "He was just waiting for an opportunity like this…" "What did he _do_?!"Frances repeated. Hugh looked her in the eye. "He threw the baby into the River Shallot."

Everyone in the room; Nettie, Michael, the Rhubarbs, gasped in horror. Frances dropped his hands, taking a step back. "No…"

"We sent an ambush after him, Turnipus saw it happen, and Burdock got away." His wife stood frozen, mouth hanging open. His gaze returned to the floor. "My Love, I'm so sorry…" "Don't be." His gaze snapped up in shock to see her smiling despite the tears making their way down her face. "I was prepared for this." She took his hands again. "We will see him again, someday. I will miss him, but he is with The Lord now." She brushed a thumb across his knuckles. "I'm just grateful we had three days with him." The King managed a smile, then pulled her into an embrace.


	2. SUN day

I'm sorry last chapter was so sad, but it'll get better, I promise.

* * *

_23 Years Later _

"Is everything in order?" Richard Burdock looked out over the spacious stone room. Seated at the long cedar table were at least thirteen people: mostly men, but a few women, of different ages, all facing him, though chattering among themselves. The man at the head of the table counted heads. "That just leaves two people." Burdock said to himself. "Two?" A man with an odd, pointed hat and glasses strapped to his face had overheard. "Everyone's here except our agent in the field. Oh!" The last word was due to being nudged in his side by the wizened old woman sitting next to him. "I told you Cobbie: don't interrupt." She remarked sternly. "Mother! I wasn't interrupting! I was offering my insight, that's completely different."

Burdock, ignoring the disagreement, answered "Cobbie's" earlier comment. "There is someone else joining us this meeting." A few less than discreet groans resounded. "Sir," another man, bald and wearing a monocle, seated next to a hurricane lamp with a silly face painted on its glass, spoke up. "Please tell me you didn't invite that…" "That _what,_ Alvin?" Burdock interrupted sharply, glowering at the other man. Alvin's mouth only snapped shut, a meek expression on his face. "I thought so." Burdock nodded. The old woman spoke up again. "Still, he could at least have the decency to show up instead of delaying you from telling us your, no doubt, brilliant plan."

As if on cue, a loud crash, the sound of something metal falling to the floor, came from the hallway outside the door, bringing the conversations to a standstill, followed by the sound of rapid footsteps. Burdock smirked. "You were saying, dear lady?"

The door swung open and in stumbled a lanky figure of a young, brown haired man, huffing and puffing from running. Sensing theannoyance coming in his direction, he shot a weak smile, showing a rather large pair of upper front incisors, like a rabbit. "I… uh… I'm so sorry everybody! You see, I tried to leave early, but I lost my…" "Never mind that, boy." Richard interrupted. "Just take your seat." The awkward figure scurried, head bowed in embarrassment, to one of the empty chairs, stumbling when someone, "accidentally", stuck their foot out as he was passing. He sat down meekly, wiggling a little until he was comfortable in his seat, hands folding on the table.

After an uncomfortable silence, the young man spoke again. "Did I… uh… miss anything important?" "No," the long suffering leader explained. "We haven't even started yet. We're still waiting for you-know-who." He rubbed his temples wearily, "But just where the blue blazes is…?"

"Me?"

All eyes turned once again to the door. There stood a lady: beautiful, auburn hair well coifed, dressed in a red and green riding outfit, in the latest fashion, of course, green eyes glinting, rouged mouth curved into a smirk. "Took you long enough." The man in glasses grumbled. "What's your excuse this time?" Burdock sneered. "Are you being 'fashionably late', or just 'making an entrance'? The woman merely raised a slender brow. "Neither: my horse got a shoe loose, and I had to stop by the farrier's to get it fixed." Burdock continued to glare. "Don't worry," The woman continued. "I'll 'see to it that it never happens again'." She said the last part in mocking imitation of Richard's voice. Many of the other people in the room fidgeted uncomfortably. It took a special brand of courage, or crazy, to show so much disrespect towards their leader. If she wasn't such a valuable member…

Richard just continued to glare. "Just sit down, Appley." She strode to her chair (Charlotte Appley never just _walked_) and sat with a great flourish. "Ah-_hem."_ Burdock began. "As you all know, we've been planning a mission of sabotage for some time now, for the purpose of lowering our enemy's morale. Well, it seems the opportunity is drawing near." The room erupted with excited twitters and murmurs. Burdick smiled. "Yes: we now have enough members in our crusade to start making waves." "Pardon me, sir." Interrupted a member known as One-eyed Willy, so named because his left eyelid was sealed shut from an injury. "But doesn't it take more than sheer numbers to actually do anything?" "I'm glad you mentioned that." Burdock answered. "Put your fears to rest: we have more than numbers on our side, which is the main reason for today's meeting."

He motioned towards Appley. "Dame Appley, our agent in the field, as it were, has brought news that may interest you."

Dame Charlotte Appley: wealthy socialite, spy, and secret financier of the organization. She provided valuable information about those in the upper circles of society, including the royal family, which now included Prince Stephan, born four years after the failed siege.

Now that everyone's attention was back on her, where she wanted it, Appley Gave a pleased smile before talking. "The nearby town of Braeburn has just completed their new schoolhouse, and there will be a grand opening ceremony this coming Thursday, which will be attended by the crown prince himself." Burdock nodded, then said. "This will be the perfect opportunity to create a little mayhem."

His demeanor grew somber. "As you may all be aware, it's been nearly a whole quarter of a century since the siege." People nodded their heads sadly, sighing with the knowledge of the dark hour that most of them had only heard about. "It was a foolish move on my part, and we lost several good men and women. But it was not a complete loss: we were able to exterminate that tyrant's son." Everyone either applauded, gave murmurs of approval, or, like the awkward young man, gave a small shudder when reminded of their leader's ruthlessness. Burdock gave a smile. "But now, we are almost ready to strike again." He paused for effect, and anticipation rippled through the room.

"Oh yes, the time is nigh."

"What does 'nigh' mean?" The young man interrupted, not realizing he had spoken out loud until Burdock's smile dropped and everyone at the table turned to glare at him. He shrunk back in embarrassment. "Sorry." He stammered in a tiny voice. "

As I was saying," Burdock resumed. "We now have enough fighters, enough intel, enough resources, and we have every step planned to the finest detail."

"Our first mistake with the siege was that we acted in haste. We were trying to fall a mighty oak with one chop, when we needed several blows of different sizes: even a seemingly insignificant cut can chip away your enemy's spirit and resolve. That is an important rule of warfare, and the purpose of this upcoming rally." Burdock motioned to Alvin and the man with glasses. "The Alchemist and Alvin have developed some devices called 'smoke bombs' that, when lit, will create large amounts of smoked and give the impression that there is a fire when there is none. We will organize some controlled chaos and minor vandalism that will create panic among the citizens and the prince's entourage."

"The main goal is to let them know we were present, and watching their every move. They will ask themselves where we are, how much we know, and how much we see." This idea delighted his audience. "Appley will lead the mission: she knows how these people tick, and how to demoralize them." Dame Appley puffed up. Burdock continued. "We will finally give these tyrants and all who support them what they deserve." His audience applauded louder. "Soon we will no longer have to hide in the shadows like mice: every man, woman, and child will know that S.U.N. is alive and ready to conquer!" The cheers grew even louder. Burdock waited for the pivotal moment to deliver the clincher. "S.U.N. will bring in the new dawn!" The entire room erupted with whoops and hollers, Appley merely rolled her eyes. "How long did it take for you to come up with _that _littlegem?" she muttered sarcastically.

Soon the cheers were replaced with either groans or failed attempts to stifle laughter. Burdock only raised an eyebrow in annoyance.

"No seriously," The young man began again. "What does 'nigh' mean?"

Later, as the meeting ended and Burdock was preparing to leave, he felt a light tap on his shoulder, and turned see the young man that had come in shortly before Appley. "I'm sorry again for being late. You see, I was finishing something at work and since I was the last one there, Mr. Nezzer wanted me to close up shop, but I had trouble finding the keys." "Forget it." Burdock said. After a breath he turned to the boy, who was looking at him like a dog sitting out in the rain. "While I do find your drive to finish a task admirable, Larry, you need to know when it's needed and when to back away." Larry looked down at his feet. "I know, Mr. Nezzer says the same thing." "The man knows what he's talking about." The S.U.N.'s leader concurred. He looked at the clock sitting on the mantle of the room's fireplace. "We'd better get going: Miss Achmetha probably had dinner waiting, and there's more about the upcoming mission I need to talk about with you." Larry's head snapped up in surprise. "With _me_? You're gonna to discuss it with _me?!"_ "Hard as it may be to believe." Richard muttered. Larry blinked, then tried to act composed, "If you say so, Dad."

* * *

Richard Burdock's entire life had been a series of extreme ups, and all-time lows.

His father, Lord Charles Burdock, had been a complete party animal, who spent more time throwing decadent parties and wild card games than any person should in their lifetime. His mother had been Charles' second wife, and was immediately replaced when she passed away from pneumonia when Richard was six. His stepmother, while not mean, was not very loving either, always out gallivanting with her friends and flirting with handsome men. His father always turned a blind eye, especially since he wasn't averse to flirting with pretty ladies himself.

Richard more or less raised his younger half-brother, who had been a great friend and as close as any brother could care to be. They received the greatest schooling by the finest tutors their father's money could buy, and became known as the bookworms of the family. He soon became disgusted with his father and stepmother's party-hardy ways, deciding to become a man of words and books.

His world was turned upside-down when he was his younger brother, aged ten, died from the flu, leaving him more or less friendless. He soon closed himself off from relationships, preferring to remain aloof.

Only two years after the death of his brother, his father followed, leaving him the title of Lord Burdock, and staggering financial debts. He married a girl from a wealthy family in hopes of taking the edge off these debts, but the less said about the whole thing the better. By mutual agreement they divorced four years later. His second marriage had been more agreeable, but they remained childless for many years. He joined the royal council, but was soon on shaky ground due to his drastic and unorthodox methods.

One day, a vein of silver was found in land that belonged to him. This should have been the perfect opportunity to ease his growing financial troubles…

…If he had only asked the king's permission before mining.

Details were murky: all everyone knew was that the king was furious, the royal council had confiscated the land containing silver as punishment, and Burdock had sunk deep into national disfavor and crippling debt. He began to conspire with others in the kingdom with complaints about the government, and they all came to the agreement that they could rule their nation better than the current king.

They collected into an organization called S.U.N : **S**eeking **U**nity for the **N**ation. Burdock, with his convincing speeches and leadership skills, was elected director of the organization. But in his eagerness for revenge, he grew hasty. As soon as the smallest opportunity showed itself, the birth of the prince and the vulnerable position of the palace, he threw himself and the organization into it full force. But he had made a terrible mistake; he had underestimated his enemy. While their numbers were low, the King's guards were more than a match for the fighters of S.U.N. Nearly all of them were either captured or killed, and a few of them surrendered and switched sides.

The only success of that siege was the abduction and death of the infant prince, thrown into the river that spanned the entire length of the kingdom. Searches for remains came up empty, except for the remains of the prince's baby bonnet.

At that moment, Burdock became the most wanted criminal in Fructis Olus.

He was stripped of his title, charged with murder and treason, and all his remaining lands and property confiscated, his very name both feared and despised by the good folk of the nation. But the cost had been too much: the organization was now crippled, it was a wonder Burdock wasn't ousted from the leadership position. He couldn't flee the country: the borders were guarded extensively. All he could do was go into hiding with his family and remaining cronies, gradually recovering. The fact that he and his wife finally had a child was little consolation.

The hardest blow in a lifetime of hard knocks was the death of his beloved Alice barely three years after the failed siege. Her health had always been fragile, so it was little surprise that it would one day give up all together, leaving a heartbroken husband and confused little boy. Burdock, ho wasn't the most warm and affectionate person to begin with, completely sealed himself from friendship and love of any kind, even in his relationship with his only child.

Larry couldn't remember much about his mother, but he wished he could have had some sort of bond with her, to make up for the one he didn't have with his surviving parent. As he grew up, it soon became clear that Larry had neither the head for politics, nor the stomach for warfare and revolution. He and Richard couldn't have been more opposite: Larry was a cheerful, lighthearted optimistic kind of guy, who's biggest talent was singing and making up songs about nearly anything, while Richard was the all-business and seriousness kind of person.

In spite of Richard's many attempts to inoculate the boy with his own ideals, Larry grew up in his own way. When his father discouraged him from reading fairytales and fables, Larry made up his own to entertain himself. When Richard tried to give him fencing lessons, he became pretty good at dodging and blocking his opponent, but his offense and attacks were always lacking. When he was sixteen, Richard sent him to a prestigious law school (under an assumed name, of course) in the rather futile hope that Larry would learn enough to be of some help to S.U.N and the offense against the current government. But by the end of the year, Larry and his teachers had given up, and he returned home. Desperate to make the boy useful in some way, _any _way, Burdock made Larry apply for an apprenticeship. Not just any job, though; his natural clumsiness and lack of coordination meant that anything involving sharp objects or hot materials was out.

He found employment at Nezzer's Printing Press. Nebbins K. Nezzer owed the only press for miles around, printing books and the regional newspaper, always had work, and ran a respectable business. Oh sure, operating the actual printing press was strenuous, and the metal type letters were heavy enough to be painful when dropped on someone's foot (which Larry did often), and the ink could make a huge mess and stains that would never wash out (which he did even more often), But Mr. Nezzer and the other two employees, brothers Jimmy and Jerry Gordon, were patient with him and refused to let him give up. Larry soon got the hang of things, and during his employment he discovered another talent: creating children's stories. Nezzer let him use the press at a discount for printing out the short stories he wrote, and everyone in the area loved them.

He'd finally found a place for himself, with friends and a sense of purpose.

The problem was, while he was useful to society itself now, he was still, for the most part, useless to S.U.N. Someone once suggested that Larry use the printing equipment to print out flyers or posters to aid in the organization's cause, but Nezzer and the Gordon brothers were loyal to King Hugh, and Larry just couldn't bring himself to go behind his employer's back and use the press for things he felt strongly against. If there was anything all of S.U.N'S members could agree on, it was that Richard's son was a waste of space and had no business in the organization, and they made no effort to hide their opinion. Larry was, at the very least, ignored, and at the worst treated like a bad smell: something you can't get rid of, but can't stand being around or being associated with.

He stopped being bothered by this a long time ago. He could ignore the insults and eye rolling and derision.

What did get to him was his father's obvious disappointment.

It was clear that Burdock still had some hope for him, trying to include him in the organization's itinerary, but everyone else knew it was a lost cause.

So Father and son both worked, a million miles apart even in the same room: one printing, the other plotting.

* * *

_Charlotte Appley is, of course, the Bad Apple, who's my favorite Veggietales villains. I don't know why._


	3. Schemes like You Wouln't Believe

_(A/N) For some reason, I imagine Burdock being voiced by John Cleese. If you didn't already guess, everyone's last name is some kind of fruit or vegetable. Burdock is a root; Kale is a leafy salad thing; and Collard as in collard greens. The names of the towns are references to fruits and veggies too; Braeburn is a breed of apple, and sounds like a British town to me. The name of the Kingdom itself, Fructis Olus, is Latin and roughly translates to "Fruits and vegetables"_

* * *

Because the meetings took place in the renovated cellar of the Burdock residence, the two men only had to go upstairs where Miss Achmetha, their slightly batty but capable housekeeper, had prepared a tasty dinner of beef stew and baked apples. They ate in silence for a while, before Richard finally broke the ice. "About this trip to Braeburn…"

"Yeah?" Larry perked up, glad to be included in his father's plans.

"I've given it a lot of thought," Richard continued. "And I've decided that you should go."

Larry deflated. "What was that?"

"I said you're going." That's what he _thought _he said.

"G-go where, exactly?" Burdock looked at him as if he'd just said the sky was green and grass was blue. "On the mission, of course, the one I just brought up."

Larry blinked furiously. "But…I… you're going, aren't ya?" "I'm afraid not. Despite the ravages of time, my face may still be too recognizable." Larry's mouth opened, then closed, then he asked. "Then… then why am _I_ going? I thought I wasn't good at missions." Burdock chased a piece of meat around his bowl with a spoon. "You've shown great improvement your coordination lately. Most importantly, I want you to be prepared for war."

Larry's mouth went dry. He fiddled nervously with his spoon. "I don't think I'm good at… war stuff either." "You aren't." Burdock stated bluntly. "Which is why I'm sending you: you need to know how to react in an emergency, how to follow orders in battle-like situations, and espionage."

"Espie-what?"

"Sneaking around."

"Oh" The younger man paused. "I'm still trying to figure out what 'nigh' means."

Burdock heaved a tired sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger before continuing. "Look, it's not as though you'll be doing any heavy lifting, so to speak. You'll probably be on lookout, or scout: something simple."

"I dunno…" Larry stared into the bottom of his empty bowl. "What if I panic and mess everything up… again?"

"I'm sure Dame Appley won't let that happen. She knows her strategies like no one else." The sound of the socialite's name made the young man's stomach tie itself in nervous knots. Truth be told, Larry thought she was… kind of scary. It didn't help that she was one of the more vocal individuals when it came to her dislike of him, and he always found himself being the butt of her jokes.

All the same, he plastered on what he hoped was a convincing smile. "Heh, good ol' Appley." This made him think of something else. "Is everyone else okay with this?"

"Of course not; But I put my foot down."

"But… but I don't think…"

"You are going, period."

Wonderful, he wasn't gonna make it to twenty four. He put on another fake smile, which looked more like a grimace. "Great, can't wait."

_I think I'm going to be sick_

"Good man." Burdock approved, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Are you finished? I think we're ready for dessert."

* * *

For obvious reasons, Larry got very little sleep that night. He tossed and turned for hours. When he finally drifted off, he dreamed that he showed up to the mission in nothing but his underwear, and was then pushed off a cliff by Dame Appley.

He was very groggy when he dragged himself into work the next morning and stepped up to the hulking figure of his employer. Nezzer had the distinction of being one of the few people who dwarfed Larry. The older man just took one look: noting the circles under his eyes and his unusually sluggish movements.

"Rough night?"

"You could say that."

Nezzer shrugged. "Guess I'll just have you do the small stuff until you wake up more."

"Thank you sir."

Nezzer handed him the broom. "There's some dust and bits of candle grease that we missed yesterday." He said, pointing to the corner farthest from the door. "You can get started on that, then you can unpack the new ink bottles."

"Sure thing."

He had been sweeping and yawning for about ten minutes before the front door burst open and voices filled the once quiet room. "Get that machine going! Fill up the ink! Have we got a story for you!"

"Dirt like you wouldn't believe!"

"_Pay_dirt!"

"That Too."

It was none other than Jimmy and Jerry Gordon: Two fellows of average height and build (Though Jimmy was a tiny bit shorter and thicker in the middle). They often worked as reporters and writers for Nezzer's newspaper, _The Pettingill Weekly._

Mr. Nezzer frowned, stomping over to the door and closing it carefully. "I keep telling you boys: go easy on my doors or you'll rip 'em right off their hinges!"

Larry tried to change the subject, partly to distract his boss' annoyance, and partly because his curiosity had been peaked. "What kind of story, guys?" Jimmy gave him a smug look.

"It happens to be a matter of national security!"

"Real hush-hush!" Jerry emphasized.

"The question that the whole kingdom has been asking for twenty years!"

"Twenty three." Jerry corrected him.

"You sure? It's really been that long?"

"Pretty sure."

"Alright then." Jerry resumed. "The question the whole kingdom had been asking for twenty _three _years."

Really?" Larry gasped, leaning closer. "What question is that?"

.

Mr. Nezzer raised one bushy brow, clearly far from convinced. "National security, huh? That's what you said When farmer John's milk cow ran away." He pointed out, thick arms crossed over his broad frame.

"This is completely different, we promise!" Jerry piped. "Well, don't leave us in suspense guys!" Larry begged, getting twitchier by the second. The two brothers paused for dramatic effect, before Jimmy leaned forward and said, in a conspiring tone. "The question is: where is Richard Burdock?"

Larry felt his heart drop right down into his stomach.

"We have the answer!" Jimmy continued. "He had been seen in this very area: in our humble little county of Pettingill!" They let the news sink in. Larry had to remind himself how to breathe.

Had his father's cover finally been blown? Was it something he himself had done?

Nezzer finally spoke. "How can you fella's really be sure it was Burdock this person… or persons saw? I mean, the guy hasn't been seen in over twenty years: would we even recognize him? Is he even still alive?"

"Y-yeah." Larry felt relief wash over him like a tidal wave. "It might've just been someone who… I dunno… looked like him."

The brothers were clearly nonplussed. "Our sources are infallible!" Jimmy insisted. "The best you can find!" Jerry agreed. "Real hard working, no nonsense, salt-of-the-earth..."

"Let me guess," Their boss interrupted. "You heard it from Farmer John's wife and her sister?"

The jaws of both brothers dropped. "How… how did you…?" Jimmy stammered. Larry had to stifle a giggle of both amusement and relief.

Nezzer slowly shook his head. "What did I tell you about listening to those two?"

"To not do it." Both recited, heads bowed.

"Why?"

"Because they just like a good gossip."

"And…"

"They exaggerate."

Nezzer shook his head again. "Honestly! Just imagine the ruckus you boys would have created if we printed that in the paper. Everyone would be in a full blown panic."

Larry swallowed thickly, his grip on the broom tightening. What he couldn't tell his boss and coworkers was that Burdock _was_ in the area, and he would soon cause his own ruckus that would have people panicking in the streets.

"We're sorry sir." Jerry entreated. "We were just looking for a big scoop."

"I don't _want _a good scoop: I just want the people around here to be informed for their own benefit, not circulate gossip."

"Understood." Jimmy said, the two thoroughly chastened. "We do have a smaller story: The farmers market might open later this year." "Now that's more like it." Nezzer affirmed.

"Um, Mr. Nezzer, sir?" Larry spoke when the discussion had ended. "On a completely different subject, that is in no way related to anything we were just talking about…."

"Just spit it out." Nezzer interrupted with a roll of his eyes.

"There's something my dad needs me to do next week, so I was wondering, if it's not too much trouble, could I get a couple days off?" _Please say no, Please PLEASE say no…_

"Well sure."

His one good excuse, flown right out the window.

By now he was holding the broomstick so tightly it was close to snapping. "Are you sure? I mean, if there's anything you really need me to do, I'm sure my dad would understand."

"Nonsense." The older man grinned and gave him an affectionate slap on the back that knocked the air out of him. "If it's a family matter, I'm more than willing to be flexible. Besides, you've been working like a real trouper; you've earned more than a couple days off!"

"Thanks." Larry wheezed.

It was official: he was toast, jam and all.

* * *

"I don't think the rhododendrons aren't going to be as showy this year."

"That's a shame. I was looking forward to them. Oh well, at least the roses are really kicking off."

Henry and Petunia Rhubarb knelt side by side, examining the soil beneath the shrubbery.

"I know I've been having a slow year: I've been having a slow everything."

"Now now, enough of that. " His daughter reprimanded. "I won't have you railing about your age again: You're just as good as you were ten years ago."

"What a terrible thing to say!"

"Now cut it out!" She gave him a light whap on the shoulder, but smiled in spite of herself.

Henry and Rebecca's little girl had grown up, as children do, and was now a beautiful, capable young lady.

She possessed her mother's dainty features and graceful deportment, combined with her father's red hair, green eyes. And love of gardening.

Most people of upper status sneered at the idea that a lady, especially the king and queen's official godchild, would choose to engage in such behavior: Crawling around in the dirt under the sun, or wielding a heavy shovel to dig holes and trenches, getting all grimy and sweaty. It would surely wreck her appearance.

But far from ruining her beauty, her hard work seemed to add to it. She was certainly stronger and healthier than most women of the nobility, especially those who spent all their time indoors, eating sweets and doing nothing more strenuous than needlework. Her naturally fair skin burned easily, so she worked with a wide brimmed hat that shaded her face and neck, keeping her complexion soft and creamy. The gloves she wore to protect herself from thorns and biting insects also shielded her hands from the elements, so while lightly calloused, they became slender and strong. She bathed often and kept her clothes clean, so she wouldn't smell sweaty.

In addition to all of this, she was also intelligent and well cultured. The royal family insisted that she receive proper schooling alongside the princes, and payed the royal tutors the extra fee to teach her arithmetic, penmanship, literature, and other languages, just to name a few. She had also been taught proper court manners and protocol by the queen herself.

The Rhubarbs had all grown very close to the royal family, so much that they felt like family. Though she still referred to Hugh and Frances by their proper titles, they felt more like an aunt and uncle than her monarchs. Likewise, the princes felt like brothers, and when Mark and Robert got married, their wives accepted her and became like sisters, and their children like nieces and nephews.

In short, she was a beautiful, graceful, cultured young woman with a strong work ethic and connections. It was no surprise to anyone that the suitors were lining up as soon as she turned sixteen.

But, although many of them had been nice men, and a few of them even wonderful, none of them were The One. This could be discouraging, especially since many friends the same age as her were already gotten married by now and having children.

But her mother kept reminding her, "Wait for Mister Right, Not Mister-Right-Now: I believe God's preparing the perfect man for you and when you two finally meet, you'll both be glad you waited." Petunia took this to heart. It was better to die an old maid than marry the wrong guy, no matter what everyone else thought.

On this particular day, father and daughter were discussing the upcoming ceremony in Braeburn. "I heard Robert's actually going to give a speech in front of everyone." Henry brought up. "Is that true? I haven't heard ten words from the boy since I've known him."

"He _is_ giving a speech." Petunia answered. "Not a big one, though: One of those short and sweet pieces about the importance of education and the future of our nation." She stood and removed the gloves that encompassed her slender hands and wrists, deep in thought. "I was invited to go along, and I'm seriously considering it."

Henry paused before rising, his joints creaking. "I'm only asking this because I'm your father and it's my job to worry: are you sure?"

"I said I'm considering it." She repeated gently. "I would like to branch out a little bit, and it would be a nice experience. Braeburn is supposed to be lovely this time of year."

Henry wiped his forehead. "I need to wrap my mind around the idea of you being so far away from home, especially without us, and that you no longer need us to hold your hand every time you go someplace new."

"It's not like I won't be alone." The redhead reminded him. "Robert and Emma will be there." Princess Emma was Robert's wife.

"That's true." Henry conceded. "I'd trust those two with my life; I think I can trust them with yours." His daughter smiled, rubbing his back comfortingly.

"I'll only be gone for a couple of weeks: nothing's gonna happen."

* * *

"It's finally gonna happen!"

The Alchemist gleefully rubbed his hands together, barely able to hold his excitement. He sat with some fellow S.U.N members in one of the more upscale taverns of Pettingill, talking over the upcoming rally.

"We're actually going to _do _something instead of just sitting around a table and flapping our gums!" He continued.

Tom Parsnip, a handsome young Scotsman, the son of a tanner from Glasgow (and according to S.U.N gossip, Appley's on-again-off-again beau), gave an amused grin. "Ye mean like we're doin' now?"

From her seat, Appley gave The Alchemist a mischievous smile. "I'm surprised your mother allows you to be out this late." She retorted.

The funny little man glared at her. "Don't be ridiculous: I'm a grown man."

From his chair, Alvin shook his head sadly. "Some people don't realize how utterly ridiculous they really are." He turned to the painted lamp that was once again perched next to him on the table with a full tankard set in front of it. "Wouldn't you say so, Lampy?"

The others ignored this: they had long since gotten used to it.

Everyone at the table had their own reasons for going against the crown. The Alchemist and Alvin had both been fired from the royal academy at different times for different reasons: Alchemist for improper use of funds and school equipment and endangering the school's students and faculty in his several unorthodox experiments, one of which turned a whole classroom of students purple, and giving a coworker minor poisoning. Alvin's unemployment had been more straightforward: he was deemed "Mentally unstable and megalomaniacal".

Tam Parsnip had tried to run a tanning business in the capital, but he had skimped on his taxes and was thus closed down. Far from learning his lesson, he decided that the government was playing unfair.

Charlotte Appley's reason seemed to change each time someone asked her, and it was quite possible that she herself didn't really know. The best guess was that she simply wanted more power, and found the whole experience to be thrilling.

The last person at the table, Bash Celeriac, had been an old soldier who served in the time of Hugh's father, and lost many friends in a war the earlier king chose to fight in. He nursed a deep grudge towards the whole family as a result, swearing that he wouldn't rest until they were off the throne. He was also one of the few original S.U.N members that had returned from the fateful siege.

"One problem with tha' rally, lads," Tom began. "We have tae bring that skinny ninny son o' Burdock's along for tha' ride." He made a face at the thought.

"Boy, talk about your party poopers." Alchemist muttered.

"Don't worry about him," Appley said dismissively. "I'll keep him out of our hair, I'll just have him stand around and tell him he's 'keeping watch". He's dumb enough to believe it."

"That reminds me," Celeriac began. "With all that's going on, whether we win or lose, Burdock has to name his successor." The table grew silent.

Alvin began "You don't think he'd pick that… that…"

"He couldn't!" The Alchemist protested.

Bash sneered. "Knowing him, he probably will."

"But, he's never even mentioned this subject." Tom brought up.

"Of course not: it would be acknowledging the fact that he's mortal, just like the rest of us." Bash stated.

Charlotte leaned back sullenly, glaring into her wineglass. "Well, if Richie thinks we're going to let that nitwit take over, he's got another think coming!"

"Aye!" Tom thundered. "I'll tell ye what we'll dae: we'll elect our own leader ourselves, someone who has the best interests of the organization at heart."

"Lampy and I nominate Dame Appley!" Alvin piped up.

"I second the motion." Alchemist joined.

"The _obvious_ choice!" Parsnip concurred.

Charlotte was all aglow. "Fella's I'm flattered, but it won't be that easy."

"The Lady's right," Celeriac continued. "We'll need to convince Richie himself that it's for the best. And if that doesn't work, then the rest of the organization."

"I'm confident." Appley mused with a smirk.

"Of course ye are." Tom said. "If anyone can convince tha' group to elect ye, it's ye yourself."

"To Appley:" Alchemist said, raising his cup. "May her words strike true and our leader choose wisely!"

"To Appley!" the other men agreed, glasses raised.

Appley smiled from ear to ear. "Boys, I'm speechless! This is too much…"

"Lampy! Stop being rude and raise your glass."

"Okay, moment's gone."

* * *

_Celeriac is a a variety of celery that's eaten by the roots; Parsnip is like some kind of carrot; and Pettingil is another apple breed that should be the name of a British town._

_BTW: Tom Parsnip is NOT Scooter, He's an OC. _


	4. Falling Into Place

_(A/N) Sorry this took so long; Last week was pretty busy._

* * *

Petunia decided to take up Robert and Emma's offer to accompany them to Braeburn. Packing for the trip was simple enough, for her at least, made simple by the fact that she planned to wash her own laundry, and thus needed less articles of clothing.

Emma had insisted on buying her a new dress for the occasion, despite Petunia's protests. She declined getting anything super fancy, like silk or velvet; instead picking a material for something she could wear again, to church maybe. She settled on cotton fabric dyed with madder: a lovely peachy-pink that went nicely with her hair, and picked a simple flowery pattern to be embroidered along the hemline. It wasn't the first time she had been fitted, measured, and fussed over, but she never really got used to it. The dressmaker had done their work with good speed, just in time for her to pack it.

Petunia smiled as she folded the garment into her small trunk, smoothing out the wrinkles.

"Isn't that lovely?"

She turned to see her mother bringing in another pair of socks. "Mom! I've already packed seven pairs."

"So now pack eight, or even nine." Rebecca countered. "You might get another pair wet: it never hurts to pack a little extra."

"I heard it'll be really warm; I might not even need to wear _one_ pair."

"They may be wrong."

"Honestly!" But the younger woman smiled and packed the extra socks.

Rebecca planted a kiss on her daughter's forehead. "I'm going to miss you something awful, you know?"

"I know." Petunia hugged her mother. "I'm gonna miss you too, but I'll need to leave the nest eventually: this could help prepare you guys for it."

"True." Rebecca admitted, leaning back and patting her cheek. "I'm just being a parent."

"Dad said pretty much the same thing." The redhead giggled.

"Speaking of me," Henry entered the room. "I have a request of you, my dear."

"What's that?"

"Some of the tulips in the north east circle, the ones bordered by box hedge; they've shuffled off their mortal coil, so to speak."

Petunia laughed. "And…?"

"Braeburn is famous for their tulips." He held up a small bag jingling with coins. "The head grounds keeper gathered enough money for you to buy a dozen or so bulbs while you're there, if you wouldn't mind."

"I wouldn't mind at all." She said, taking the purse. "Most girls enjoy shopping for clothes and jewelry," Then she amended "Uh, well, I do to, but I also like to shop for plants."

Her father chuckled, looping an arm around his wife's waist. "Thank you, Sweetie. We'll all appreciate it." He then looked at her with mock seriousness. "Now, you better have a good time, you hear?"

Grinning, Petunia gave a mock salute "Loud and clear."

* * *

The journey to Braeburn was a smooth one, and Petunia enjoyed every step of the way.

The entourage consisted of herself, Prince Robert, Princess Emma, at least one valet, Robert's personal chef (to make sure their food wasn't poisoned), and a small host of body guards. It was low maintenance, compared to most traveling royalty. It gave them opportunity to eat out under the sky, to enjoy each other's company, and just enjoy the trip.

They were to stay in the house of the mayor, Archibald Asbaragws, and his wife Lovey. The couple were incredibly gracious and hospitable. They had prepared the finest rooms for all of them, even the servants, and gave them a tour of his town. Both treated Petunia kindly, Lovey curtsying and Archie bowing and kissing her hand like she was a grand noblewoman, and without seeming phony. During the tour, he also made a point to include the prettiest gardens in the town (with the owners' permission, of course) for her benefit, but said to her. "I'm sure the gardens you work in are much lovelier by far."

"Indeed they are." Emma said. "Miniature gardens of Eden!"

"Yes, but only because my father does most of the work." Petunia replied modestly, feeling a little embarrassed by all the attention.

Archibald laughed. "Oh Yes, I've heard of your father's miracles with the soil: makes me wish I lived in the capital, just so I could hire him to work on my own garden. But, then again, he would probably be too busy."

As nice as the Mayor's house was, there wasn't a whole lot of room, as often the case with officials of small towns, so several members of the entourage ended up sharing rooms, sometimes three in one bed. Emma and Petunia, being the only ladies in the group, bunked together, sleeping in the same bead, which was fortunately decently wide.

Neither of them minded; it was a great opportunity for some girl time. They spent the night before the ceremony up later than normal, chatting and laughing in their nightgowns. They even, might as well admit, gossiped, although it involved people neither of them knew personally.

"I heard," Emma began as she brushed the knots out of Petunia's hair, "That the King of England is looking for another wife."

"_Another _one? This would be what, wife number five?"

"Six, actually."

"Anyone specific for the slaughter?"

"Not yet, but I feel sorry for whoever she is." She tapped the hairbrush against her chin, seeming uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. "What is it Em?" Petunia asked.

"You remember that the council considered a marriage between one of the boys and one or both of the English princess'?"

"Yeah; it was before you met Robert, wasn't it?"

"Yes." She propped her chin on one hand. "Those poor girls, especially Mary, Catherine of Aragon's daughter, she's suffered the worst ." She looked to Petunia. "I don't want you to take this out of context, but sometimes I feel so sorry for her, and a little guilty for my own good luck, I almost wish…" She sighed "I almost wish Robbie had married her instead of me."

Petunia gasped; this was one of the last things she expected to hear. "How can you say that?!"

"I told you not to take it out of context!"

"But… _why?_"

"I just told you: she's so miserable, she's been so mistreated by her father and her first stepmother and everyone else. I love Robbie more than life itself, but even if I hadn't married him, I still would've had a good life, whereas, she might have had one much better than her current one."

"Maybe, but then Tommy and Missy would never have been born."

Emma smiled "That's the biggest deal breaker."

"And besides, I don't think she would take well to the royal family not being Catholic, considering the whole Boleyn affair."

"You've got a point, again."

Emma then steered the conversation to a common topic. "So, on a different subject, I've met this man, a squire, named of George Rivers. Nice guy. He likes to work in his garden as a hobby…"

Petunia couldn't stop from grimacing. "Oh no, Em! Not this again!"

"Not what again?" The princess asked innocently.

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about."

Emma sighed. "I'm sorry, but I can't help it; you're a wonderful girl, and I think…"

"I don't need anyone to play matchmaker for me." Petunia reminded her patiently. "When the right guy comes along, I'll find him myself."

It was hard for Emma to understand. Her marriage to Robert had been semi arranged, planned but requiring their consent, and it took place when they were seventeen years of age. But she shrugged and sighed. "Sorry, I know it's none of my business."

"You're forgiven," Petunia told her, then added jokingly, "_This_ time, at least." And the two laughed it off.

* * *

The next few days went by far too quickly, in Larry's opinion. Soon the day of reckoning would be upon them, and he would have to obey his father's wishes.

The day before they were to head out, Larry spent most of his mental energy thinking of ways to get out of this responsibility. He knew that fighting was sometimes necessary for a cause, but he wanted no part of it.

This was what preoccupied him at the press, and on his way home from work. He didn't even have the chance to notice what a lovely evening it was. The temperature was cool and even, the sky a blue-gray, like the scales of a fish.

Speaking of fish, he decided to walk by the lake to clear his head, maybe watch the fishing boats as they docked. In addition to its printing press, Pettingill was also famous for its fishing industry, and Larry sometimes watched the fishermen at work when he needed to clear his head.

_ There's gotta be some way I can get out of this mess. _He thought as he made his way down the stone walkway along the docks. He stopped and sat on the edge near a boat with the name _Lovely Lisa _written on the side. He glanced towards the ship made sure he was out of the way before sitting and dangling his feet over the edge.

_Maybe if I could catch a quick cold… _He stared at his reflection. He could go for a brief swim, then run around in the cold, night air in his wet clothes.

But, knowing his father like he did, it would take much more than a stuffy nose and sneeze for Burdock to let him stay home from something this important.

"Careful…!"his thoughts were rudely interrupted by a shout, immediately followed by something cold and floppy landing on his shoulder. He caught the object as it slid off, and found himself staring into the wide eyed, gasping face of a small-mouth bass.

"EEEEUUuugh!" He let out a rather unmanly screech, flinging the clammy creature back into the drink where it swam away, no doubt breathing the fish equivalent of a sigh of relief. He gave a shudder, still brushing violently at his clothes as though to push away the memory.

"Oh Gosh, sorry about that!"

He had been sitting closer to the boat than he thought, being distracted by his worries. He looked up and saw two crewmembers leaning over the side right above him, hoisting in the rest of the net while smiling apologetically.

They were both short and stumpy. The older man had a thick grey mustache, and his eyes were completely obscured by a pair of glasses with the thickest, dirtiest lenses you could imagine. The younger man was a little older than Larry himself, clean shaven, and, though his hair was covered by a knitted fisherman's cap, he had the reddest pair of eyebrows he had ever seen.

"I'm really sorry!" The younger man repeated. His speech was surprisingly clear and articulate for a fisherman.

Larry smile back at them. "S'okay, just something freaky about a live fish out of water…" He gave another shiver.

The older man jerked his thumb towards the younger. "Well, this rookie's still working on his knots." He spoke with a light Yiddish accent.

"It's true" The other admitted. "Have you ever _tried _to do a sailor's knot? It's crazy!"

"That's okay,' Larry gave him a reassuring smile. "I know what it's like to be new at a job and… make a mess of things."

The read-haired sailor laughed, and was about to say something else when a clang resounded from below the deck of the ship, followed by a gruff voice yelling in Gaelic. The two crewmen looked down with alarmed, puzzled faces, and then there was the sound of a wooden hatch being opened.

A voice same from deck level, though Larry couldn't see the person from his angle "Uh, Captain… dinner is off on account of Scooter just spilled the stew all over himself."

"Jiminy Christmas, Lunt! You just _left _him covered with steaming hot soup?" The older man, sorry, the _Captain_, disappeared below deck, grousing all the while. The younger crewmember watched him over his shoulder.

"Um… I should probably go." He said "It was nice to meet you, Mr. …"

"Larry." The lanky man gave a friendly smile and reached up to shake his hand.

"Nice to meet you Larry, My name is Bob."

"Well, nice to meet'ya too Bob. I hope I'll see you again soon."

"Same here." The sailor said, before following his captain below deck.

* * *

_9 hours later_

"Rise and shine, up and at 'em, Boy."

"Hm… nhg… wha…?"

"I said wake up."

Larry felt himself being shaken, prying his eyes open to see his father's blurry features in the dim lighting. "Dad, I don't wanna go to school today, could you write a note for my teacher?" He tried to settle back into his pillow.

Richard gave a strained smile. "I'm not talking about school: Today's the big day! You need to get down there and meet with the others bright and early."

Larry squinted at the window, seeing the mist hanging over the ground and the streets dim. "Well, it's early: I dunno about bright." Then the words sank in and his eyes popped back open and he sat up. "Wait, you mean …?"

"Yes, the Rally. Now get going."

Larry immediately began scrambling for excuses. "Oh gee… I've… I'm really not feeling well this morning… '

"That's of no importance: You will get up… "

"My head hurts…"

"Get dressed …"

"I'm feeling dizzy…"

"Have breakfast…"

" and I'm seeing spots…"

"_NOW!"_

"_Gleep_!" Larry jumped straight out of his covers. "Er… Like I saying, I'll be ready in a minute, Sir."

His father nodded. "Good man." Then marched out of the room, leaving his son to rue his fate.

* * *

After betting dressed, putting on his hardy walking boots, and a rather hurried breakfast of porridge that he ate before it could really cool off, He set out towards the Shallot River, where the group would be sailing in a small dingy upstream to Braeburn: it was one of the quickest routes, and one of the more stealthy ones.

It took him a little longer than normally, it still being dark and everything. He had trouble navigating, and of course, he kept tripping and stumbling over hidden objects. When he finally did get there, the sky had turned from dark blue to grey, the way it had been the previous evening when he was thinking of ways to get out of this predicament. He gulped. _No turning back now._

The troup: Alvin, Appley, Parsnip, Celeriac, and a few others, were huddled together as they braved through the early morning chill, muttering sleepy conversations and yawning every once in a while. Some of them rolled their eyes and became visibly annoyed when they saw him, but the rest didn't even acknowledge his arrival.

"Congrats, you're on time today." Appley stated flatly.

"Um… thanks?"

The others resumed their conversations, ignoring him, which was just fine in his opinion: he was too tired and nervous to be made sport of right now.

Appley spoke up to the small crowd. "We're almost ready, just as soon as Leekey and Allium get here, we can push off."

The other members gave a rather tired, lack luster cheer. She walked past Larry and probably noticed his frightened expression.

"Relax, Sonny Boy: I won't let you get killed."

"Well gee, thanks. I…"

"Your old man would have me demoted if I did."

"… Appreciate it." He finished wanly.

* * *

_Once again, all the last names_ _are fruits or vegetables, sometimes in a different language; Archie and Lovey's is one of the welsh words for Asparagus. _

_I did a little research, and 1543 is the year that King Henry VIII of England married his sixth and final wife Catherine Parr. I figured that it would make sense if He considered, at some point, marrying one his daughters off to the princes of Fructis Olus (If it existed, of course), since nearly every royal male was at some point considered for either one of them. _

_Anyway, stay posted for nest chappie: there's gonna be a lot of actions and excitement!_


	5. Move Along, Citizen

_The "Lovely Lisa" is a reference to Lisa Vischer._

_Anyway… I'm not real good with action scenes._

* * *

The oars sluiced through the water with relative ease. The group aboard remained relatively quiet as they concentrated on going upstream undetected. There was still the danger that the early-rising fishermen would see them, but hopefully they would not notice anything unusual.

The lantern had been snuffed out, so they had to move slowly through the dimness. The stronger men were at the oars while Appley stood at the bow like an admiral guiding her troops into battle, cutting a formidable figure with her dark green gown and cloak. Larry was probably strong enough to help row, but they were sure he would probably mess up the rhythm or something like that, so he sat with Alvin and The Alchemist and Pericles Allium; a rather artistic individual who's home had been foreclosed.

Larry looked down into the water. It was a soupy greyish-green, like watery pea soup mixed with ashes. He gave a small shiver: in this very same river, several miles upstream, the infant prince had drowned.

"Yer not gonna be sea sick, are ye?" Tom Parsnip asked, noticing the younger man's paleness.

"Uhm, no; I'm good." The lanky youth assured him.

"If you do get sick, just don't throw up on _me._" The Alchemist warned him.

"Enough chit-chat." Celeriac whispered. Bash Celeriac was one of the few members who never actually insulted Richard's son to his face, but the way he looked at him, Larry could tell the old soldier really wanted to. Why he didn't was anybody's guess.

* * *

Upon waking, Petunia wasted no time in getting ready. While her royal bunkie continued snoring, the Asberagws' maid filled a wooden tub with hot water so she could bathe and wash her hair, after which she put on her lovely new dress and brushed her hair until it shone, then braided it into her usual coif as she headed downstairs for breakfast.

Archie, lovey, and Robert were both at the breakfast table, the latter munching quietly as he listened to the former tell him about the educational history of Braeburn.

"… and of course the children in this town have had to travel to nearby towns if they wanted to go to school, but it I don't have to tell you it can be quite a bother and…"

"Morning everyone." The female gardener announced her presence politely and with a smile, which the others returned.

"Ah, good morning Miss Rhubarb." Archibald said.

"Did you sleep well, Dear?" Lovey asked, playing the perfect hostess.

"Like a baby." Petunia assured. "So did Emma. In fact, she's still up there." Robert gave a quiet understanding chuckle at this. His quiet and reserved demeanor was very different from Emma's bubbly vivaciousness, but they completed each other in this way.

"Prince Robert's chef insisted on cooking breakfast for everyone, this morning." Archie said, pointing to the food at the center of the table. "There's a loaf of bread, a bowl of fruit gruel, butter, and milk." Petunia sat and began to spread butter on a slice of bread, and Archie told her about his conversation with Robert (or, knowing the prince like she did, Archibald talked while Robert listened).

"We were just discussing the merits of the new school; up until now, the children have been forced to travel at least two miles each day if they wanted to go to school, if at all. The areas around us are fairly safe for the most part, but I keep hearing stories about shady characters being seen around, especially in the town of Pettingill."

"Indeed," Lovey concurred. "And because of this, many parents opt to let their children remain uneducated."

"It is quite a disaster," Archie brought up. "Grown men and women who don't even know the alphabet, or how to multiply or divide. I am more than pleased that we have finally planted an institution for edu…"

"'Planted'? Oh my goodness!" Petunia thunked the heel of her hand against her forehead. "I completely forgot! I promised to buy some tulips while I was here for the palace garden." She then looked at the others. "Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Oh it's quite alright." The mayor assured her, reaching across the table and patting her hand in a fatherly manner.

"Just doing your job; nothing wrong with that. Now, there is a garden and flower shop in town, between the cobbler's and the sweet shop…"

"Pardon me, Love, but I believe it is actually between the tailor's and the blacksmith." Lovey gently posed.

"Are you quite certain dearest? I was so sure it was between the… or am I thinking of the wool traders?"

"Neither: you are thinking of the dyers."

"I thought the dyers were next to the chapel…"

"Never mind." Petunia interrupted. "I'll find it myself; I think I remember seeing it in the tour you gave earlier."

"Are you sure you will go without an escort?' Archie asked.

"I'll be fine." She smiled, then gave a small laugh. "I'm not important enough for anything bad to happen to me.

* * *

The group from S.U.N docked in a wooded area perhaps half a mile from the outskirts of town. Parsnip jumped out and tied the craft to a sturdy young elm before the others disembarked. By this time Larry was shaking so badly he could barely stand on his own two feet.

"Don't collapse on us." The Alchemist muttered to him almost as an afterthought.

Appley frowned when she saw Alvin carrying Lampy in one hand.

"Sorry Al, the lamp stays."

"What?! Why? I promised him he could help!"

"I… don't think he could handle the excitement."

"Shows what you know Woman! I'll have you know…"

"Don't argue with me, just leave him…I mean _it_… whatever!"

The former scholar mumbled to himself as he reached over the side of the boat and placed the painted object on the deck. "Sorry Lampy…"

"Um, if you want," Larry spoke to Alvin. "I'll be more than happy to stay and guard him, y'know, just in case anyone tries to steal the boat."

The older man turned eagerly toward Appley . "Could he? I don't like leaving poor Lampy here all by himself."

"That's…" She began, probably to refuse the request, then realized what it entailed, and her expression brightened. "… not a bad idea."

She turned towards Larry with a cloyingly sweet smile. "You can stay right here and keep an eye on our boat." Alvin cleared his throat loudly. "And Lampy, of course." She added. "Think you can handle that?"

"No problem!" He chirped.

"Atta boy." She rather stiffly patted Larry's cheek, in a way that made it feel almost more like a slap.

"Alrighty then." He ducked out of her reach, then re-boarded the vessel, seating himself next to the painted lamp, arms crossed.

"We will probably be gone for two hours, at least" The socialite explained to him, adding in a low tone "Under no circumstances are you to leave this boat, understood?"

"No problem there! I'll imagine I've got roots." He was too happy that he wouldn't be forced to go and pleased with himself to have thought of this win-win situation to be intimidated by Appley's tone.

He watched them leave, feeling a profound sense of relief.

* * *

Finding the gardening shop turned out to be more difficult than Petunia originally expected. Despite the town's small size and the fact that she had seen most of it in the grand tour, she was still very unfamiliar with the layout. The fact that she could navigate the much larger Capital city (or at least the parts she had been in) made it all the more embarrassing. She asked the baker for directions, but they were unhelpfully vague, so she asked someone at the perfumer's stall, who did better at explaining things. By then she had been wondering around for nearly an hour and a half.

She picked two dozen bulbs; five of the yellow kind and nine white, was able to make her purchase and have it boxed and wrapped in brown paper just in time to hurry to the schoolhouse where a wooden platform had been erected for the event, and the speeches were to be given.

* * *

Meanwhile, the would-be saboteurs had come within sight of the first dwellings. Charlotte turned to the others and motioned for them to gather around her.

"Okay boys here's the game plan; make noise, create mayhem, don't get caught."

"That's it?" Bash Celeriac asked, incredulous.

"That's pretty much all the instruction you need." She turned to Alvin and Alchemist. "Show everyone what you made."

With a smug grin, Alvin reached into his satchel and held up a small, burlap sack filled with some substance forming a bulge roughly the size of a lemon, tied close with a string wick coming out through the opening.

"This is the device we mentioned earlier; the smoke-maker." He explained. "It's a simple contraption, really; just some sugar and paraffin wax. You just light the wick, and once the flame reaches the fuel, it'll make large amounts of smoke, but very little fire."

"So everyone will need either a match or a tinder-box to go along with it." The Alchemist said as he passed the objects around so everyone had one. "And, just to be safe, please try to keep them away from flammable objects."

Tom examined the device in his hand. "Och! Clever devils; what they won't think of next!"

"Everybody set?" Charlotte asked, the others affirmed that they were.

"Alright; let's go."

* * *

"My friends, today is a very grand day indeed!"

The good citizens of Braeburn gathered to see the Mayor, the town council, and their future king and queen standing before the modest building that would bring education to their humble community. Mayor Asperagws was the one speaking, his voice and countenance bright and amiable.

"On this day, we join together, as a community, to see the masterpiece created by our hard working builders and loving fathers." He motioned to the group of builders standing apart from the crowd to receive proper recognition as their fellow townsfolk applauded them.

"On this day, we rise above the fog of ignorance to give our children, our whole nation, a brighter and clearer future."

Lovey shook her head at her husband's dramatic wording, but smiled indulgently as the town continued to clap.

* * *

"Nobody sees us?"

"Nobody; they're all too busy with that dumb schoolhouse and the Mayor's 'bright future' flubdubbery."

Alvin and the Alchemist skulked around the near deserted streets.

"Where should we put them?"

"Anywhere."

The two men scurried around before they came to a house a block south of the clearing where the new school, and thus the crowd, was situated.

Alvin fished around his satchel until he found his tinderbox. "We might as well start here." He lit the fuse on his smoke bomb, then quickly place it behind a loose board before the two ran away.

* * *

Archie then turned to Robert "And we are honored to have the crown Prince, our future king, here with us on this grand occasion!"

Petunia tried to clap while balancing her package, as she had no time to put it away. She was glad she wasn't required to stand up in front with the dignitaries and let everyone see her awkward handling of the object.

The Heir apparent gave a congenial smile and wave, stepping forward on the platform. The audience grew silent, he took a breath, and …

"FIRE!"

People began murmuring clearing; sand colored plumes of smoke were billowing from the southern portion of the village., then the voices grew louder, the murmurings growing into a dull roar.

"There's another one!"

"And another!"

A horse harnessed to a nearby cart suddenly reared and, somehow, broke away from the carriage; the straps to its bridle cut clean through.

"What's going on here?!"

"Someone get the children to safety!"

The Mayor tried feebly to calm everyone, the royal body guards gathered around Lovey and the royal couple. People were running around everywhere, and Petunia was immediately swallowed by the frantic mob. She was pushed, jostled, and knocked about, and she nearly tripped over a flock of geese that had somehow gotten loose. It took her a while to maneuver her way out of the crowd.

"Marauders!" Someone yelled.

"Intruders!" Said another person.

She managed to duck between some buildings. _What in God's green earth is going on here?_ Before she could catch her breath she heard the sound of footsteps Shufflingng towards her. The words of the crowd were still ringing out. _Marauders! We're being invaded!_ In blind panic, she continued running, and just ran, and ran… not even noticing where she was going.

* * *

"Your Highness', Mayor Asperagws: Please come with us." Michael Collard gestured to his fellow guards. They formed a tight formation as the group carefully made their way from the platform and towards the empty schoolhouse.

"Wait!" Princess Emma halted, her blue eyes wide. "Petunia's still out there! I haven't seen her since this morning!"

Collard froze, a rare look of worry crossing his features as he looked out into the mob. "She's out _there_?!"

"Sir, there's no time." One of his subordinates reminded him.

"Go along without me." Collard broke away, disappearing into the frantic mass that was the Braeburn populace. "I'm going to find Miss Rhubarb."

The soldier called after him. "But Sir…!"

"Don't stop him!" Robert commanded sternly, and everyone looked to him in surprise. "She's a good friend of the Crown, and we promised her mother and father we'd look after her."

The others continued to stare at him. "What?"

"I think that's the first time I've heard you speak, your Grace." Archie said.

"Don't get too used to it." Emma said with a laugh, as they finally ducked into the safety of the new building. "He only talks to _me _when there's an R in the name of the month."

* * *

Larry must have fallen asleep, because one minute he was sitting there, waiting for the others to come back, and the next he suddenly found himself looking up at the branches of the elm from the bottom of the boat.

The sounds that woke him were people yelling and screaming a distance away. He grimaced as he sat up and rubbed the stiffness from his neck. He really, _really _didn't like all this. He hoped no one got hurt in all this. Nobody needed to get hurt, right?

Petunia stopped to catch her breath, and take in her surroundings.

She was somewhere in the woods surrounding the town; she had been so blinded by fear that she hadn't even noticed leaving the city limits.

_Petunia, you're such a dumb bunny! _She scolded herself. _I can't imagine how worried everyone will be when they see I'm gone. All because of a little noi… _

A twig snapped.

She froze.

_Stop it! Don't panic; you'll get yourself into a bigger mess if you do. _

But she couldn't stop the chill from going down her spine when she heard the sound of rustling nearby.

_It's nothing! It's nothing! Probably a squirrel, or a badger; something like that._

No; it was the sound of footsteps on grass.

She turned to the direction where it seemed to be coming from, holding her package in front of her, against her chest, like some sort of shield. "H-hello… anybody?" Her voice came out in a feeble squeak.

The footsteps ceased.

Then there was silence, eerie silence, but they…it… was still there, she could tell, she could feel them watching her…

"I won't hurt you; I'm not lost." She didn't know why she felt the need to add the last part, maybe to show that she wasn't quite helpless.

She took a step back, preparing to run if need be. "Who are you?"

Silence again. All of her instincts screamed at her to _get away! Flee for your life!_

The crunch of a foot stepping on pine needles.

She spun around and lurched in the opposite direction, her muscles bunched up in preparation to go as fast as her legs could carry her…

Then her ankle twisted painfully, tipping her whole body forward towards the ground.

She saw a low tree branch coming right at her…

Flashes of light…

Then dim nothingness.

* * *

The sound of a scream caught Larry's attention. Granted, he'd heard a lot of people screaming and yelling over the last few minutes, but this…

It sounded like it was very close by.

It had been very brief; almost a startled squeak, then suddenly cut off, like a rabbit getting caught in a snare.

"Hello? Anybody out there? Do you need help?"

But he was answered with silence.

He _knew _he'd heard something, but was it an animal or a person? Was it someone in trouble?

He glanced at Lampy. "D'you think I should go check it out?" He posed.

Lampy did not answer.

"I know Appley told me to stay here, and I know that if I leave the boat even for a second and she finds out, my name's Mud."

"But, then again," He continued "what if it really _is _someone who's in trouble; someone who is scared, and lost, and hurt?"

He sighed. "I'd never live with myself if I didn't at least try to find out. I know _you _won't snitch on me."

His long legs reached over the side of the boat and he set out in the direction of the sound. He kept his eyes and ears peeled as he made his way through the shrubbery.

_I'm pretty sure it came from this direction. _

After a few minutes, he heard a groan. He began running towards it.

He saw a shape lying on the forest floor, a _pink _shape.

It was a girl: red haired and wearing a pink dress.

She was right beside a medium sized maple beneath a low branch, lying face down in the leaves; her right ankle turned oddly,a package wrapped in brown paper and string on the ground beside her.

It was obvious what had happened; the branch above her was just short of face level, she had lost her footing and fallen, hitting her head and knocking herself out cold.

She let out a groan.

"Hey, you okay?" Larry asked, rather stupidly. The response was a few, incoherent mumblings that were barely audible above the forest birds.

He felt a surge of guilt; she was undoubtedly running from the chaos caused by his companions. He moved until he was right beside her, and crouched down before very carefully turning her over onto her back. He noted her pretty features, and automatically winced at the nasty bruise forming across her forehead.

"Now, Miss, can you hear me?"

She muttered something that sounded very much like, "Soil."

"What?"

"Too much…clay…" Her voice trailed off into gibberish. She was in really bad shape, injury wise: probably had a concussion.

What was he supposed to do? He had to get help, or take her back to the village, but if he did, he risked incurring the wrath of his fellow S.U.N members. But he couldn't just leave her here.

He would take her into town: it was worth whatever Appley or the others did to him if he could save someone's life.

He took her package, and situated it securely in her arms; he couldn't bring it along otherwise. He then gently slid one arm beneath her shoulders, and the other beneath her knees. He slowly bore his weight down on his legs, lifting her slowly, and holding her against him, making sure her head leaned against his shoulder instead of lolling back and possibly straining her neck.

Once this was accomplished, he looked around to get his bearings. "Now, did I come from this way, or that way?" He tried to remember, which direction was the town again? He walked a few paces in one direction, stopped, backtracked, then went in another one. He stopped again.

Had he managed to get himself lost in just a few minutes? He knew which direction he had come from, but he had trouble translating it in his mind to where his friends had gone off to.

"Of all the boneheaded, ridiculous…" He glanced down at her inert features with a nervous smile. "I'm not really good at this 'rescuing' thing, am I?"

"Blue." The girl said.

He paused to think for a moment "I know what I'll do; I'll go back to the river and then find my way from there." He set out, working carefully through the foliage. The boat and Lampy were exactly how he left them.

"Okay; now I think…"

"That was a fine romp indeed!"

"Letting the geese out was a nice touch, Bash ol' boy!"

That very second, his companions emerged from the shrubbery laughing like naughty schoolchildren, and Larry's heart stopped cold.

Everyone saw him and the smiles vanished, and allgrew silent, looking at the unconscious girl, then at Larry, and trying to process. "What is going on here?" Appley demanded in a low voice.

"How did she find ye?" Parsnip asked.

"I… she didn't; _I_ found _her_." Larry explained, hoping against hope that they wouldn't get mad. "I think she's hurt pretty bad…"

"You didn't just leave Lampy all by his self, did you?" Alvin accused.

"Only for a minute: I'm sorry, but I couldn't…"

"Y_ou're _sorry?" Celeriac interrupted. "You should be! You've blown the whole mission! We were supposed to be inconspicuous!"

"Wait," Appley said. "Maybe he didn't ruin the mission."

"Huh?" Everyone looked to her in confusion.

"We could still use this to our advantage." She then gave a slow smile. "I think we should commend him."

The others were agog. "Are ye daft, Woman?" Tom thundered.

She walked over to the young man. "He was thinking on his feet, albeit rather poorly. He's finally shown some initiative."

Larry was a little confused, but then he assumed Charlotte was congratulating him for rescuing the stranger. "Oh! Well, shucks: Anybody would have done the same thing."

"I highly doubt that."Appley said, then turned to Leekly. "Get some rope." Larry watched in confusion as the man obeyed.

"What'll we need rope for?" he asked, beginning to feel uneasy.

The others looked at him oddly, as Leekly brought out the length of cord. "She might wake up." He explained.

"So?"

"How else are we going to keep her from running off?"


	6. The First SNAFU

His stomach dropped. "R-run away? I don't…"

"Tom." Appley looked to the young Scotsman, who strode over to Larry.

"Wait …" The younger man began to protest, but Parsnip immediately took the girl from him. Richard's son began to panic; this wasn't at all what he had in mind.

"Guys, there must be some mistake…" He tried, but his voice fell on deaf ears; Leekey began hurriedly tying the rope around the inert girl as Parsnip held her.

"We'll have to tell Richard," Celeriac reminded them. "And I don't think he'll be very pleased with this. It changes everything." Nobody noticed that the girl's eyes were beginning to crack open.

"We'll worry about that later." Dame Appley told him, still keeping her eyes on their newfound hostage. She reached into a pocket sewn on the inside of her cloak, pulling out a handkerchief. "We may need this soon." She deftly tied it over the girl's mouth, to Larry's horror.

He was still making futile attempts at clearing up the situation that had somehow spun away from his control. "You don't understand; I didn't mean to…"

"Back into the boat." Appley interrupted. "Everyone hurry!"

Larry took a quick glance at the girl, and saw that her eyes were opening, but she seemed oblivious to what was happening.

* * *

It was like being under water, except she could breathe; heavy, dark, floating ever so slowly towards the surface.

She heard voices, melding together into muffled white noise. She felt herself being shaken and jerked around, suspended.

Everything was turning from black to grey. She couldn't move her arms or legs. She had turned to stone; she couldn't move, couldn't feel…

The greyness faded into blurry shapes; dark blobs that bobbed around in her vision. She felt pain in her head, like a tree was growing out of her forehead. Did trees grow through stone?

One blur, the biggest one, the one that always remained in her line of vision, became clearer and clearer.

A face: a man's face. The face of an unfamiliar bearded man.

She realized he was carrying her. Who was this person? How had she turned to stone.

No, she wasn't stone, she was tied up: bound with ropes like a lamb for the slaughter.

Panic shot through her, what did these people want? What would they do to her? She couldn't breathe right; something was stretched over her mouth…

* * *

Larry saw the girl become lucid, realization dawning, than horror, her bright green eyes widening and then darting around to see the others. This all happened within a matter of seconds and no one else seemed to notice that she was completely awake.

By the time Parsnip reached the boat, her eyes fixed again on the Scotsman's face, and the fear immediately faded into an angry, determined glare. Before Larry could fully process this mood swing, she leaned her head back, then brought it forward; her forehead meeting Parsnip's chin with a loud CRACK!

"YEOWCH! BLOOMIN'…!" he broke off into a string of Gaelic expletives, dropping the girl. Thankfully Larry managed to dart forward and catch her before she hit the ground, letting her lean against him.

Appley and Celeriac roared with laughter at Parsnip's plight. "She's no damsel in distress." Appley chuckled.

"Indeed." Celeriac agreed, gasping for breath and holding his belly. "Tommy, you've met your match with Miss Rhubarb, here."

Rhubarb. Rhubarb. Where had Larry heard that name before?

"It's not funny!" Tom growled at the two, rubbing his sore chin. "How'm I supposed tae bring her aboard?"

"Oh, man up." Celeriac told him dismissively. "I once had to carry a kicking colt down the road to my father's stable; left my ribs in a dozen pieces."

The younger man grumbled, turning to the hostage, who was slumped dazedly whimpering against Larry. Tom reached for her, angry sparks still flashing in his eyes. The gangly young man automatically turned her away from Parsnip, his own body shielding her. "Come off it, Lad," Parsnip growled in exasperation. "She needs tae come along one way or the other."

"Um, I wouldn't mind carrying her." Larry offered, eager to keep this innocent girl away from the Scotsman's wrath.

"Fine!" Tom threw up his hands and hopped into the boat. "That's bonnie! Just keep her oot of me hair."

"Come along, men." Charlotte said impatiently, and the others scurried into the wherry boat. "They'll be looking for her."

Larry carefully lifted the girl into the boat, before getting in himself, then lay her down with a folded burlap sack beneath her head for a pillow. "I'm really sorry about this." He whispered to her, though not really sure she could hear him; her eyes looked glazed over.

* * *

Hitting her kidnapper with her own, injured cranium was probably not the brightest idea; as soon as she did, earth shattering pain erupted inside her skull and stars flashed before her vision, the world reeling. Her stomach lurched and for a minute she was afraid she would throw up. She heard a voice that sounded familiar, saw a woman's sharp features set with piercing green eyes, and wondered, _what was Dame Appley doing here?_ When she came to, she was being carried to a boat before she was set gently down.

She saw the face of a person; a young man her age, tall, close cropped brown hair, soft features, all arms and legs. He noticed that she was watching and, to Petunia's surprise, gave her what was supposed to be a reassuring smile, showing a large pair of front teeth.

He reminded her of a hare, this young man, with his brown hair, long limbs, and buck teeth. A little delirious from her aching noggin, she began to wonder if he really _was _a hare, which had been turned into a person, like in the fairy tales.

The boat began to rock beneath her; she saw the auburn coif of Dame Charlotte Appley, whom she had seen on occasion, and wondered if the woman was some kind of sorceress that turned hares into young men and raised an army for herself from animals.

* * *

"I don't see how this can work." The Alchemist muttered, motioning to the girl.

"You have no imagination." Dame Appley told him. "The king would pay the whole royal treasury to get her back, if allowed."

Larry looked once more to the girl, very confused. What was so special about her?

"This is actually perfect." Celeriac added. "The king's godchild is less risky than an actual member of the royal family, yet it will garner the same response from the monarchs."

Larry's jaw dropped. _The…the king's… _

He looked once more to the girl he'd tried to save, trying to wrap his mind around what was happening: He had just kidnapped Petunia Rhubarb, the king and queen's goddaughter.

He was dead meat! He would be executed, if he was lucky, and he was _never _lucky!

Sweat appeared on his forehead, despite the cool air hanging over the river.

"Um… out of curiosity," He began. "W-what do you think my dad will do to her?"

"Probably keep her locked up somewhere." Appley replied.

"He won't…you know… hurt her?"

"He'd have no reason to." The socialite answered. "Although, he may just send a finger or toe to the king, to prove we really have her."

Larry spent the rest of the trip trying to decide whether he should faint, or throw up.

* * *

"You have _who_?!"

"Petunia Rhubarb, Sir; your son got a hold of her while he was guarding the wherry."

"_My _son? My Lawrence?"

"Do you know any other?"

If ever there was a time Larry wished he could disappear, it was now. Celeriac and Appley were in the process of explaining the situation to their illustrious leader, and made Larry accompany them.

Richard's steely gaze cut towards him, making him flinch. "Whatever possessed you to do such a thing, Boy? This isn't at all like you!"

"I-I've been _trying _to tell everyone; I wasn't kidnapping her, I was trying to _rescue _her! I had no idea who she was!"

"Aha!" Appley crowed, eyes narrowing. "So you admit to leaving your charge for reasons not associated with the rally? Even after I told you, under no circumstances…."

"Yes! I admit it!" He sputtered irritably, throwing his arms in the air, too tired and frustrated to be frightened by her at the moment. "I heard a noise, thought someone might be in trouble, went to check it out, and there she was; out cold. I couldn't just _leave _her lying there!"

"It no longer matters how it happened." Burdock stated. "What is important is the fact that we now have the King's godchild as hostage, and we need to figure out what to do with her."

"The whole kingdom will be in an uproar." Celeriac mentioned. "We'll need to handle this with the utmost care."

"As always; you make a great point." Burdock murmured.

There were a few minutes of silence, as the three brains (not including Larry's) worked.

At length, Burdock said. "I know of a place; an abandoned manor that once belonged to my family. It's situated on common ground now, but no one has been inside for over thirty years. It is still in relatively good condition: it's full of empty rooms and suites. We can keep her there as a way to undermine the king's confidence."

"Very true." Celriac nodded. "They will realize how strong we've gotten if we've gotten a hold of someone so close to the royal family."

Larry didn't even fight back his sigh of relief.

"Send word." Richard stated. "We need to set off immediately."

* * *

After being placed unceremoniously into a hand drawn cart amongst bundles and sundry items, covered with a blanket to disguise her and keep her journey's location a secret, and then hauled off for the longest, bumpiest trip of her life, limbs asleep from the ropes, Petunia decided she no longer cared what they did to her.

The cart finally stopped and she was hoisted blanket and all, somewhere indoors. When the blanket was finally removed, she saw that she was in a room in a great house, that had probably belonged to a servant: it contained a small bed, a dirty, threadbare rug, a chamber pot, and a wash basin. The room had no windows; there was no way she could see outside, or have anyone look in and see her.

The man who carried her in set her on the bed and spoke as he removed the gag from her mouth and began cutting through the ropes. "You will be staying here for an indefinite period of time, until Burdock says otherwise."

Richard Burdock. She didn't bother to stifle a gasp. The boogeyman of the kingdom was alive and still conspiring against the royal family, and he had her in his clutches!

"You will be given food and water twice daily," her jailer continued. "And the chamber pot will be emptied once a day. Any questions?"

_I have plenty, but none that you would answer_. She only glared at him.

"Very well." The man turned on his heel and closed the door behind him, she heard the sound of a bolt being drawn, meaning that there was no actual lock, or that the original one had been broken.

She looked around, taking in her surroundings. Everything, all her fears and frustrations over the last few hours came rushing back to her. _What do they want with me? What are they planning? What should I expect? _

She could find no answer to either of these.

Frustrated tears made their way down her face. She turned and grabbed the ratty pillow and buried her face in it, letting out a scream.

* * *

"Forgive me, your Grace, but I couldn't find her!"

Mayor Aparagws' house was filled to the brim with anxious people. The Mayor himself sat in his office with Lieutenant Collard and the royal couple.

"I searched under every barrel, under every rock, in every closet," Collard continued, lines of worry drawn in his face. "And still she was nowhere to be found in Braeburn! I have failed you all!"

The heir apparent shook his head, "No, Michael: I was the one who promised to look after her. I was the one who told Henry and Rebecca that she would be safe. _I _am the one who failed."

"No; it's my fault!" The princess insisted. "I should've made sure she was with us during the ceremony, or gone with her to the garden shop."

"You are all wrong." Archibald moaned, his head hanging as he sat at his desk. "I should have insisted that she take an escort with her to the shop. I assumed she could handle herself."

"We all did." Collard answered grimly, rubbing a hand across his face. "Who would want to kidnap the daughter of a gardener and a chambermaid?"

"She is also the official Goddaughter of King Hugh and Queen Frances." Emma reminded him. "It may have something to do with that."

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Mayor Asperagws? Lieutenant Collard? Urgent!"

Archie raised his head with a puzzled expression. "Come in."

The door opened and in strode one of the guards serving under Collard. He held up a scrap of paper. "Sirs, one of the deputies found this note pinned to the door of town hall! We think it may be from the people responsible for this afternoon's fiasco!"

"Let me see it!" Collard snatched it from his hand, and the other three stood and crowded around to get a closer look.

It was written in a hurried scrawl. The lieutenant read the note aloud, his brow furrowing gradually with each word.

"'Dear citizens of Braeburn, we thank you for this opportunity and hope that there will be another one soon. We apologize for any undue stress we may cause you…'"

"I'll bet." Emma snorted.

"'… and specify that we have no personal quarrel with you. However, you may take your loyalties into serious consideration in the months to follow; just a little heads up. Sincerely yours….'" Collard's jaw dropped in disbelief. "'The members of _S.U.N?!'" _

"It can't be!" Archie declared, taking the paper from the lieutenant. "It _is_!"

"I thought they were done for!" Emma gasped, wringing her hands. "No one has seen or heard from them since…" She trailed off.

"And they've got our Petunia!" Robert moaned, shaking his head.

"Why, if they harm a single hair on her precious head," Emma declared angrily. "I'll just… I'll…."

"But the note says nothing about her." The mayor pointed out. "Not a single blessed thing!"

"I hate to say this," Collard put forward. "But maybe they _didn't_ take her; Maybe, some ruffian took advantage of the chaos and grabbed her while everyone was panicking."

"I don't know which is worse!" Emma declared.

Her husband became very grave. "We need to send word of all this to my father. In the meantime, we need to search the entire area and all adjacent towns and communities for Petunia and/or the organization S.U.N."

* * *

Larry was sent home, but he ended up going into town and wandering about. He could not get that girl, Petunia, out of his head.

He knew that she was very close to the enemy, and that she would willingly give her life for the royal family, but that didn't mean he wanted to get her in trouble.

She had been greatly injured and distressed when he last saw her. Was anybody taking care of her injuries? Were they treating her with unnecessary roughness? Did she know that they had no intention of bringing her further harm?

These questions bugged him to no end: into the evening when he tried to sleep, and the next morning.

He had to find out. He _did_ have an extra day off.

He didn't know why he was so determined, but he had to see to it that she was in as little discomfort as possible. He _was_ responsible for getting her taken, after all.

* * *

Petunia lost track of time; it was an easy thing to do when you can't see how dark or light it is outside. She spent the rest of the day praying, had a simple dinner of bread and salted cod brought to her after she had been in the room for a few hours, prayed some more, then fell into an exhausted sleep. She was woken the nest morning when her breakfast of cold porridge was brought, and prayed some more; there was nothing else she could do

She prayed for guidance, she prayed for courage, she prayed for wisdom, and she prayed for patience.

It was well after breakfast, when her stomach started to growl for the lunch that wasn't coming, when she heard the bolt slide back again and the door to her makeshift prison open.

She had been sitting cross-legged on the cot eyes closed, and she opened them to find the funny young man who had carried her into the boat, the one that reminded her of a hare, poking his head in cautiously through the doorway with a sheepish smile.

"Um, hi. I hope I didn't disturb anything." He said in a high, funny voice.

She blinked in confusion.

"I wanted to make sure…I mean… see to it that you were recovering from your injuries." He continued.

"Oh. Um…" What could she possibly say?

"Can I come in?"

"Oh, sure." She gave a shrug, not entirely certain what to make of this development.

The young man's grin became more confident and he stepped inside, holding a lit candle in one hand and a strip of linen in the other, and let the door slam behind him.

He stood before her. "How's your head? Does it still hurt? Any dizzy spells?"

"No, it's not bothering me anymore; I think everything's in order." She paused, and then said. "My ankle is still sore, though."

"That's what I brought this for." He held up the linen. "I remember it was twisted funny when I found you." He knelt down in front of her, placing the candle on the floor, then motioned for her foot.

Petunia removed her shoe, then presented the offending joint to him, and he gently grasped her heel and toes. "Does it hurt when I do this?'" He asked, bending it carefully.

The dull throb she had been feeling became sharp and stinging, like nettles wrapped around her ankle. "Sort of." She told him.

He gently prodded the ankle. "It feels a little swollen, but that's nothing a little rest can't fix." He shook the linen out with one hand while holding her foot by the heel with the other, then started wrapping it over the top of her foot and under the arch; one end pressed against her with his thumb.

She studied him in the dim light as he worked: He had the close cropped brown hair she remembered. He wasn't particularly handsome, but he wasn't ugly. He had a little mouth that twisted to the side as he concentrated, his button nose slightly on the large side.

He had soft features; sort of like a little boy, with his open, guileless face, showing every nuance of emotion that flickered through his mind. At first glance, she thought his eyes were light brown, but then she noticed hints of olive green around the edge and _why was she noticing all this?! _

She mentally shook herself.

"Sorry; is that too tight?" He asked, mistaking her sudden tension for physical discomfort.

"No; it's fine." She replied tersely.

He finished with the bandage. "There! That should keep it im…immobib… not moving."

She fought back a laugh at his struggle to say the term. "Are you a doctor?" She asked, then took note of his young age. "Or training to be one?" She amended. "You seem to know an awful lot about this kind of thing."

He gave her that funny little smile he had given her on the boat. "I'm no doctor; just… _really_ clumsy."

A tiny laugh managed to escape her before she could stop it. His smile widened in triumph.

"Er, could you explain that?" She asked, trying to draw the focus back where she was comfortable.

He took the candle up and stood. "When you've spent pretty much your whole life either tripping, bumping into, or knocking over things, you get pretty good at treating minor injuries."

"I see."

Suddenly she remembered something. "Wait: what did you say earlier?"

"About what?"

"You said that you were the one that found me, didn't you?"

His smile dropped like a stone, and he suddenly adopted the expression of a cornered rabbit, taking a couple steps back as if he expected her to expode at him. "I… well… that is…"

A fresh wave of frustration and anger washed over her, she gripped the edge of her cot, glaring at him. "You were the one who brought me to those… those… !"

"Outlaws?" He offered

"Villains!" She snapped.

"Now, I know they can be a little rough, and rude," he started with a raised finger. "But I wouldn't call them…"

"It's _your_ fault I'm here in this terrible place!"

"I didn't want you to be brought here!" He insisted. "It was all a huge misunderstanding! I had no idea who you were, or what my friends would do to you, honest!"

She wanted to stay angry at him, wanted to not believe him, but he seemed so genuine. In light of his recent actions, she had to assume he was telling the truth.

The redhead heaved a tired sigh. "Fine; if you say you didn't mean it, I'll believe you."

He managed a smile "Thanks."

There was a sound down the hall outside her door; he jumped and spun his head in the direction it came from, as if he could see its source through the stone walls.

"I should probably get going." He said uneasily, and at that moment she realized he probably wasn't allowed to be here.

"Um, okay. See you later." She said automatically.

He looked surprised. "Really?"

She thought for a moment. It wouldn't be too bad to have some company once in a while, if she was going to be held here. "If you want."

He shot her another little smile that made her want to smile back. "In that case; my name is Larry." He began to slip out the door.

"Well, nice to meet you Larry." And it _was_ nice to meet him, despite everything.

* * *

_ Gosh, this thing was so loooong, but I couldn't delay Larry and Petunia's first converstion any longer, and I could find no way to shorten this._

_Constructive criticism is always welcome; flames are not. _


	7. The Paper it's Written On

_Yeah, these next two capters are abit short and uneventful, but they move the plot along. _

* * *

Larry dreaded the return to work two days after the Braeburn fiasco, simply because he knew what the topic of every discussion was going to be.

"How about this: 'Royal's Godchild Vanishes from The Face of The Earth: Officials Blame S.U.N Saboteurs!'"

This was going to be a long… whatever.

Jimmy and Jerry were already trying to think of an appropriate headline for the article they wrote covering the event.

"Think Jerry, think! These are desperate, despicable people, and the public needs to be properly warned, in case they strike again!"

"I'm thinking, I'm thinking."

"How about; 'SUN Scorches Flower: Kingdom's Sweetheart goes up in Smoke!'"

"Man," Nezzer muttered from his desk. "Farmer John's wife and sister-in-law would have a field day with thatone."

Larry had had just about enough of this. "Guys, could we _please _talk about something else? This whole thing is giving me the willies!"

"What else could we possibly talk about?" Jerry asked, palms spread.

"Oh I dunno; Maybe the weather, or the Farmers Market."

Jimmy shook his head. "You don't talk about the weather when a friend of the royal family gets kidnapped!"

"Think about it," He continued. "The most wanted criminals in this country disappear without a trace for twenty three years, and then suddenly reappear long enough to disturb the school's grand opening ceremony and abduct an innocent lady before vanishing into the mist!"

_Or the river._ Larry though dryly. "That's what's bothering me." He told his coworkers.

"All this is freaking me out!"

This was sort of true; he found himself dreading whatever his father had up his sleeve, even though he knew the royal family would have to answer for their countless crimes sooner or later.

* * *

As he headed home from work, he heard a somewhat familiar voice call out his name.

"Hey! Larry!"

He turned to see the red haired fisherman he'd met the other day running toward him and waving.

Larry smiled. "Oh hey… Bob!" It took him a second to remember; a lot had happened since they met.

The other man shook his hand warmly. "Good to see you again. I hope you've recovered properly from my little mishap."

"Mishap? Ah come on," Larry grinned, nudging the other man's shoulder. "You haven't seen the blunders _I've_ done. And I may be a weenie, but even I can get over being lobbed by a fish."

Bob chuckled. "You're very kind."

"How's your crewmate doing?" Larry ventured. "The one that got hot soup spilled on him."

"You mean Scooter?" The two men walked over to a bench and sat, Bob pulling his knitted cap off to comb his fingers through his short, brick colored hair. "He's doing just fine. Wasn't really hurt: just…"

"Steamed?" Larry offered with a pleased smile.

It took the other man a moment, then he laughed. "Oh; I get it."

He looked over to the building Larry had just emerged from. "Nezzer's Printing Press, Huh? Getting a book published?"

"Actually, I work there."

"Really?"

Larry nodded. "Although," He continued. "I have written a few children's stories that got published there."

"Huh. A man of many talents."

"I wouldn't say that."

"Well you've got two. What kind of stories are they?"

"Mostly fairytales, fables, that kind of stuff."

Bob pulled his cap back on. "Well, people love that stuff."

"They don't have pictures, though." The younger man stated. "That's the only problem. I'm trying to find someone who can draw and make illustrations for me, hopefully someone who doesn't expect a lot of money."

"I'd help you if I could," Bob said. "But I can't draw worth a darn: I once tried to make a self-portrait and it ended up looking like someone got sick all over the parchment."

"Oh come now: it couldn't've been _that_ bad." Larry persisted.

"Oh it did," The fisherman gave a little laugh. "But in that respect, it was a dandy likeness of yours truly."

"I'm sorry but I have a rule: no insulting yourself in my presence." He teased his new friend.

Larry briefly wondered if Petunia would be interested in reading his stories; anything had to be better than sitting in a dark room, staring into space all day.

"Well," Bob stood. "I'd better get going"

"'Kay," Larry smiled. "Nice seeing you again."

The fisherman headed on to the docks. "Stay safe." He threw over his shoulder. "Everyone's saying that the S.U.N organization is around these parts."

"Don't I know it." Larry muttered to himself with a sigh.

* * *

Larry came to visit Petunia in the evening, after her dinner had been brought over and the dishes removed.

"I've got a surprise for you." He said, pulling thin book bound in tan leather from under his arm. "Nothin' much; just something to look at."

Petunia took it with a grateful smile. "Thank you! I was ready to give my left arm for something to read." She placed it beside her on the bed. "I'll look at it tomorrow, to stretch it out." She looked at him. "Unless you want me to read it right now."

"Naw, that's a better idea. Just tell me if you like it when I come back tomorrow."

He took his usual spot on the floor beside her cot, cross legged like yesterday.

There was a momentary silence as both tried to think of a topic.

"So," Petunia began, "How was your day?"

The young man blinked for a moment, not expecting that kind of question. "It was… nice." He said rather awkwardly. Then he asked without thinking, "How was yours?"

She raised an eyebrow in bemusement. "Uneventful." She stated baldly.

He winced. "Sorry; dumb question."

She bit back a smile. "It's okay: it just shows that you care." She knew he was trying very hard to do or say the right thing.

She picked up the book again. "What's this about anyway?"

"Just a kid's book," He shrugged. "It's sort of a fairytale, with talking animals."

"Well, it just so happens that I love fairytales, so I will read it with relish." She assured him.

"Great!"

After a spell, he grew curious, and asked, "May I ask what's in the package you were carrying?"

"Tulip bulbs; for the royal gardens." She then gave a little sigh. "I don't suppose it matters now, though; it's probably still lying in the woods where…" She paused, but he knew what was unspoken. _Where you found me._

He broke the momentary awkward tension with a smile. "Actually, I brought it with me."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Really?"

He nodded. "I have it lying around somewhere in my house; I thought you wouldn't want it to get lost."

Why did he have to be so kind? It was almost unfair. What was someone like him doing in an organization like this?

He interrupted her thoughts. "Are they giving you enough to eat?"

"Oh, just about." She told him. He continued to look at her, as if expecting more. "Barely." She amended at last. His brow furrowed in concern.

"I could bring you something extra, if you want."

This seemed almost like a luxury. "Oh, that's very sweet of you! I don't want to get you in trouble, though."

"Nah, I'll be fine." He grinned, then changed the subject again. "So, you work in the gardens?"

"Correct."

"You've probably heard this question a million times, but what's your favorite flower?"

She opened her mouth to answer.

"No wait, let me guess." He interrupted, a sudden playful look coming to his eye. "Could it be…?"

She saw what was coming. "Don't Say it! Don't you dare!"

"Petunias."

"Ugh!" She pressed her hands over her eyes in mock exasperation, but was unable to hide her grin. "You _said _it!"

He gave a little laugh. "Sorry, couldn't pass that up."

She gave him a mock glare. "Well, for your information, you are not the first person to make that joke, and I doubt you'll be the last."

"Duly noted."

"And furthermore," She continued. "Petunias are my parents' favorite, not mine."

"Then what _is _your favorite?"

"Azaleas."

He nodded, smiling up at her. "They _are_ very pretty." He concurred. "And I be the ones you take care of are the prettiest."

She felt a tiny bit of heat rise to her cheeks.

* * *

Richard was sitting at his desk in his office, going over some blueprints of the palace and maps of the capital city, when he heard a knock at the door.

Assuming it was Miss Acemetha coming to dust, he answered, "Just a moment."

In less than two seconds he had rearranged the papers on his desk to his liking. "Alright, you may enter."

The door opened, but it wasn't his housekeeper; it was Bash Celeriac and Dame Charlotte Appley, both wearing twin expressions of calm determination.

Already he could feel a headache coming on. "This better be important."

"I assure you; it is." Celeriac stated.

Burdock fought back a sigh. "Take care to close the door behind you; I don't want my domestic to see us and start questioning, precarious though her sanity may be."

Bash complied as they both walked in.

"Sir," Appley began, "We need to talk."

"The three most dreaded words in the vocabulary." Their leader retorted. "Alright, what is it? Does it have to do with the girl?" He didn't have to explain who 'the girl' was.

"Not quite." Celeriac said. "Rather, it has to do with the future of our organization."

A crease appeared in Burdock's forehead. "Would you mind specifying?"

"Our future leader." Appley stated bluntly. Richard deadpanned as she continued. "It's not that we wish you any bad luck…"

Richard turned to the old soldier beside her, as if she hadn't continued talking. "Bash old boy, you _know _what the plans are."

"I know _that _one." His old friend stated. "I know who will be king, but who will lead S.U.N when you are no longer with us?"

Hearing this, Appley forgot to be annoyed at being interrupted and ignored, and blinked in puzzlement. "Wait; they aren't going to be the same person?"

The two men exchanged knowing looks.

She started to feel annoyed again. "What aren't you two telling me?"

The two were quiet for a moment longer. Bash nodded at Richard.

The latter took a deep breath and said. "Dame Appley, there are secrets we've kept even from most of our organization, with good reason. However, you have proven yourself more than worthy to our cause." His eyes locked with hers. "I think you are ready to know."

Her breath hitched. "Know what?"

His voice lowered even further. "The _true_ final stages of my plan."


	8. The Power of Words

_ This is probably going to be the shortest chapter in the story, hopefully. Just building Larry and Petunia's relationship._

* * *

Petunia made herself wait until the following morning to start the book Larry brought.

It was a short story, about a bear that was afraid of cats, whose best friend, a badger, tried to help him and said the funniest things, but it wasn't until the ursine protagonist managed to rescue a kitten from the river that he realized that domestic felines were nothing to fear, at least for a great big bear.

It was cute and very silly, but that didn't bother her in the least, she could use some silliness right now. It reminded her of the stories her parents used to tell her or the queen used to read aloud when she was a little girl.

Life was so much simpler then, when she was curled in her mother's lap, falling asleep, or sitting with Princes Mark and Steve at the Queen's feet. Back then her biggest worry was no more than a skinned knee, and Richard Burdock and S.U.N were just distant boogeymen used by parents of Fructis Olus to frighten children into behaving.

How things had changed.

Her vision started to blur. _No, Nu uh! You are _not _going to cry! _She reprimanded herself, never mind that no one was even around to see.

The door swung open. "Afternoon!"

Scratch that. She gave a tiny yelp as her strange companion popped in all bright and cheerful.

"Eeep! Larry! You're… early." She felt a tad flustered, having him barge in while she was fighting back tears.

"Sorry 'bout that." He amended. "Today is Sunday; I thought I'd come see you after church." Sure enough, she now noticed that he was dressed a bit fancier today.

"It's Sunday? Already?" Wow. Where had the time gone?

"Yup." He answered. Then he noticed that her eyes were shining and red rimmed. "Are you okay?"

"Hm? Oh," She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "Yeah, Just… Dust allergies."

"Uh huh." He replied, eyebrow quirked, clearly unconvinced by her white lie.

Thankfully, he changed the subject. "I brought ya' something." He grinned, and reached into his pocket to pull out a ripe orange.

Her eyes widened. "Oh goodness; thank you!" She took it eagerly. "I never thought an orange could look so beautiful!" She started peeling it, then remembered her manners. "Is it alright if I start eating in front of you?"

"Oh, by all means." He insisted, taking his usual spot on the floor. "That's what I brought it for."

She tried to be neat with her snack, but it was hard; it was the most delicious thing she had eaten in three days, and the vibrant flavor had her enraptured.

He watched with a smile as she closed her eyes and hummed with contentment at this simple pleasure. In a minute all that remained was the peel.

"Goodness!" He remarked. "Maybe I should bring two next time."

"No, it's fine. That won't be necessary, but thank you." She insisted, wiping her hands on her skirt. "It was a welcome treat."

"Glad you liked it." He piped. "How's the book?"

"I love it!' She proclaimed. "It's so clever and cute! I felt like a little kid again!"

"Good!" He nodded. "That's why I picked it."

She leafed through the pages. "I'm still not quite finished with it." She admitted. "I've been trying to stretch it out.

She came to the title page and saw the name of the author. _Laurence Cobb. _

"Hey; the author had the same name as you." She observed.

"Heh, whadda' ya know."

She grew thoughtful, then looked up. "The author _is _you." She realized.

Larry gave a pleased flush and a little smile. "Maybe."

Her grin widened. "You wrote this?"

"Well, yeah." He admitted, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck. "Hope you don't think I was trying to promote myself."

"I don't care if you were," She declared. "It was so charming!"

He was both grinning and blushing now. "Aw. Glad ya liked it!"

"So you're an author?"

"Among other things."

"What was the sermon about, by the way?" She changed the subject.

"Sermon?" For a moment he had forgotten about the day's events beforehand. "Oh, right. It was about Daniel; you know, as in the Lions' Den?"

"Uh-huh."

"And his three friends: Head-Shack… no… Cod-Sack…?"

She gave a bubbly giggle that made his smile widen just a fraction. "I think you mean Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego."

"Right." His smile faded almost imperceptibly. "Um… You were mentioned."

"Oh." She felt her grin drop and her bubble burst. For a minute or two, she had forgotten that she was a hostage.

"The minister compared you to those four and all the things they went through. He asked the congregation to pray for you."

She only nodded. This situation had suddenly become far too awkward.

"I already was." He said.

She cocked her head like a bird. "Was what?"

His eyes met hers solemnly. "Praying for you."

Petunia was not expecting this. After a second, she realized she was staring at him, slack jawed, like a ninny. "I'm… I don't know what to say." She murmured. "Except, thank you."

He gave her tiny, reassuring smile. This time, she allowed herself to smile back.

* * *

"Just to let you know," Richard said to him, later that afternoon. "I'll be having dinner in my office tonight."

Larry cleared his throat as his father prepared to leave the parlor where they had been sitting. "Before you go, can I ask you an important question, about Petunia Rhubarb?"

"You may." His father paused and turned to him.

Larry twiddled his thumbs nervously. "What's gonna happen to her, if we win?"

Richard scratched his beard. "She will simply be moved to The Mountain."

The Mountain was a nickname given to the state prison building situated in the capital, made of granite and lava rocks from other lands, giving it a ragged, foreboding appearance.

"How long will she stay there?" Larry put forward.

"Probably the rest of her life."

Larry's heart dropped into his stomach. "What?! The rest of her… we're not ever gonna let her go?!"

Richard gave him a funny look. "Of course not, Boy: Use your head! She will never hold loyalty for anyone but the current reigning family, and nothing will change that."

"But… but…"

"I'm actually letting her off easy." Richard continued. "I could have her executed for treason, but that would make her a martyr."

"Ex… execute…!" At this point the young man was trying not to hyperventilate.

"She must remain a political prisoner."

"You mean… she'll never be free?" Larry realized in astonishment and horror.

Richard became grave. "I'm afraid so, my boy. Some people in this kingdom are merely trying to be loyal to the Crown, whoever may hold it; they can be pardoned. Miss Rhubarb and her family, however, hold their loyalties too close to their hearts, and thus, they can never be trusted, nor free to work against us."

* * *

_I wanted to give the Fructis Olus equivalent of places like The Tower of London or Bastille (The fortress prison, not the music artist)._

_Back in the day, execution for treason was very gruesome: getting beheaded was being let off easy. _


	9. Clear Waters Ahead

Just two days after Petunia Rhubarb disappeared, a letter was left in Mayor Asbaragws' post box,

The seal was recognized as Richard Burdock's.

The prince and princess were still staying, refusing to leave until the King told them to return home, in case of further developmentts. So, like the note left on the door of Braeburn's town hall, this letter was read in the company of the royal couple and Lieutenant Collard.

This time, Archibald was the one to read it aloud.

"'Dear Mayor Archibald Asbaragws,

My companions had such a grand time in your charming town, they took home a souvenir.

Because they had done such a wonderful job, I decided to let them keep it, or should I say _her._

Fear not: you may tell those tyrants who call themselves the royal family that she shall remain unharmed, if everything goes well for the organization, that is.

Signed, Viscount Richard Burdock.'"

By the time Archie finished reading the letter, Robert was pale as marble, Emma was fighting back tears of fear and anger, and Collard was trembling with rage.

"They _do_ have her!" Emma fumed in a low voice. "Those inhuman, unprincipled monsters have Petunia!"

"This is most dreadful!" Archibald declared, flinging the letter down on his desk with great force, as if to punish its writer vicariously. "I was so certain they had lost all power, and possibly disbanded! Heaven knows how strong they've become! And the nerve of that man; calling himself Viscount! "

Collard shook his head. "I'll need to return to the palace: the King must know of this. They may be planning something big."

* * *

Larry found their housekeeper polishing the silverware. "Miss Acemetha?"

"Yes'm?" The domestic didn't even look up from the spoon she was putting shine to.

"I have a really …. Weird request: I can't go into full details why."

"Go on." She put the spoon down and started on a table knife.

He took a breath. "Do you have any spare dresses I can borrow?"

After the second it took her to process this, she froze, then slowly looked up with a bewildered expression; staring into space as if she was trying to figure out if she really heard what she thought she heard. Then she turned to him.

"Pardon me, Sir: did you say you wanted to borrow a… dress?"

"Yes I did." Then he held up his hands. "Oh, it's not for _me _to wear."

She blinked slowly. "Then who is it for?"

"A friend, a lady friend, who has no way of getting more clothes right now."

She continued to stare at him. As far as Miss Acemetha knew, He and his father were Laurence and Richard Cobb: distant cousins of the madman Richard Burdock. This explained his father's resemblance to the man, and also his reclusive habits; He was afraid of being misidentified as the traitor and murderer.

Her rather twitchy and precarious grip on sanity was precisely why Richard had hired her: She was easily fooled, and if she ever _did _grow wise to them, it was doubtful anyone would take her claims very seriously.

But she _was _aware that these two men were rather odd.

"I only have three dresses:" She said at last. "One for church and holidays, and two for everyday activities."

"I'll return it really soon, I promise. It doesn't have to be your church dress."

She thought for another minute or so. "Very well." She conceded at last. "You, or your friend, can have it for three days… but _only _three days."

She jumped in surprise as the young man gave her a quick hug in gratitude. "Oh thank you, thank you Miss Acemetha! My friend will be very grateful!"

* * *

The last time Petunia had bathed, or even changed her clothes was the day of her kidnapping. That had been at least four days ago, and she had since gotten all covered in dust and sweat from running away from the mob and from being tossed in a grimy old bedroom.

Needless to say, she was felling a tad… grungy.

So, it was a very welcome surprise when, on his fourth daily visit, Larry came in with a wooden tub filled with warm water and a scrubbing brush clunking around in it, a cloth to use as a towel draped over one arm, a clean brown and gray woolen dress folded over the other, and a large bar of soap wedged in his mouth. How had he opened the door?

"What is all this?" She asked.

"Mmmgh mffmmh." Larry mumbled around the soap, then made a disgusted face that made her laugh.

He quickly set the items on the floor and spat the soap out. "Blecch!" He sputtered. He then looked up at her with a smile. "In case you were wondering: soap tastes terrible. Don't eat it."

"Thank you," She giggled. "I'm so glad someone warned me; I was tempted to have a nibble."

He answered her earlier question. "I thought you might like a spit-bath and a change of clothes."

He held up his hands. "Not… that I think you _need _it I just… thought you might feel a little better."

"Thank you, I _do _need a bath!" She grinned, then looked down at her dress. It would take a bit more than a washing to fix it; it had stains from the dirt and a tear or two. "Where did you get the dress, if you don't mind my asking?"

"My housekeeper was nice enough to let me borrow it for a couple of days."

"It's not much." He confessed. "If I could, I'd have brought in a big tub full of hot water that you could lie and soak in, and a nice silk gown."

"No, this is perfect!" She told him. "I can't tell you how grateful I am for this!"

Okay!" He smiled, heading for the door. "I'll leave you for a couple hours: is that enough time?"

"It's perfect." She repeated. Then he left.

Petunia took the new dress and unfolded it, noticing that he'd brought no clean undergarments. Either he'd forgotten, was unable to get hold of any, or just simply _didn't_ out of embarrassment. She decided to clean the ones she had on real quick.

She undressed completely, folding what had been her new dress over the cot next to the clean one, then dipped her under-clothes in the warm water, ran the bar of soap over them, wrung them out, then rinsed them and spread both articles out on the cot to dry.

Next, she let her hair down and dunked it into the basin to soak it, then crouched over the tub and scooped up handfuls of water over herself, letting it drip back into the tub.

Once she was sufficiently soaked, she grabbed the soap and pressed in over her skin and scalp, working up a nice lather. She scrubbed the brush in small circles over her skin, imagining al the worries and concerns of the last few days were sloughing off with the dirt and dead skin into the water.

Finally she scrubbed her scalp and hair, using her fingers to comb the knots and snarls, using her nails to scrub behind her ears.

After she rinsed off and patted the towel over herself and wrung her hair dry, she put her underclothes back on, deciding that she didn't care if they were still damp. And then put on the clean dress. It was meant for a woman smaller than her, but it was also made to be a loose fit; so she was comfortable in it; like being wrapped snugly in a wool blanket.

She was in the process of braiding her hair when she heard Larry's light tap on the door.

"I'm back. Are you decent?"

"Yes; thanks for asking."

He came in. "Feel any better now?"

"Much better: thanks!"

"Good to hear! I'll have your dress cleaned and brought back in a couple of days."

"You can do that? Without getting in trouble?"

"Of course. Leave it to me."

Petunia smiled and shook her head. "You're too accommodating; more than I deserve, actually."

For just a brief moment, she was certain she saw the corners of his smile sink a millimeter or so downwards, and a sad flicker in his hazel eyes. But, like a blink, it was there one second and gone the next.

"I'm just making sure you're as comfy as you can be, in a place like this." He replied. He was still smiling, but not a real smile; His mouth was stretched into the right position, but there was no real happiness behind it.

She wondered what he wasn't telling her.

* * *

He wondered if he should tell her. Tell her that she was never leaving imprisonment alive. Tell her that it this was the most comfortable as she would ever get. That she would, one day soon, disappear into The Mountain, like the two English princes disappeared into the Tower of London, sixty years ago, so their Uncle could become King Richard III. And that people would be wondering if she was alive or dead.

But he didn't. He couldn't. He was a chicken.

This floated around in his head as he made his way from the manor to his home. It preoccupied him so much, he almost didn't see his father waiting for him in the house's anterior as he locked the front door for the night.

Key word being 'almost'.

Larry all but jumped out of his skin with a startled yelp when he saw Richard standing, arms crossed, near the front door, a suspicious look on his face.

"_Whoop! _Dad! I… uh, wasn't…"

"You're home awfully late." Burdock remarked, in a tone that was more grumpy than accusatory. "Mr. Nezzer have you work extra hours, hmm?"

The young man swallowed hard. "Well no; I…" Larry had discovered early in his life that he was a _terrible _liar. This was quite a nuisance considering … well… everything.

He often tried to get around it by only telling part of the truth, and omitting the rest. As far as the boys at Nezzer's Printing Press and the folks at church knew, He lived with his reclusive widower father, who wanted nothing to do with anyone but his son.

"I quit work at the same time I usually do." He answered. "I just… may have taken a detour; a long walk to unwind."

His father raised one grey brow. "By chance, does the route to your daily walks go through the old manor?"

Larry broke out into a cold sweat. There was no use denying that he had been there.

"Well, maybe I'm curious; about our prisoner." He posed, rather defensively.

This almost defiant tone was not expected by Richard, or even Larry himself, but the former brushed it off. "I know you better than that, Laurence. One of the guards saw you walk out with a tub of water and soap. Are you actually trying to make her more comfortable?"

"Well, is there any real reason why I shouldn't?" Larry asked. "I mean, if we promised that she would remain unharmed…"

"How comfortable or uncomfortable she is makes no difference," Burdock stated. "What concerned me is how close she may try to get to you."

"What do you mean 'as she tries to get'?"

Richard lowered his voice, though they were the only ones there. "Remember when Dame Appley joined the organization? Do you remember what I told you then, about women?"

"Yeah; I remember."

When Dame Charlotte Appley joined their cause, nearly five years ago, and some of the other male members of the organization were reluctant to give a woman so much power and say in the group, Richard told Larry, "Women can fight and win battles just as well as you or I: they just use very different weapons."

"What kind of weapons?" Larry had asked, trying to picture the socialite charging with a heavy pike in hand, and had to stop himself from snickering at the image.

"They use their intellect: cunning, wisdom, simple brain power." He continued. "Many men make the mistake of underestimating the female gender, of thinking they are either stupid and/or weak willed. I know better. So does the man everyone calls King: that is the only thing I have in common with him.

"A woman can win a man to her side, either by her seductive wiles, or by charming innocence, or even by simple friendship. Women can be more determined than men, which can make them excellent fighters, just not the kind that always charge into battle wearing armor and with a sword, usually."

Of course Larry remembered this whole conversation. "Are you saying that you think Miss Rhubarb might try to win me over?"

"Of course; who wouldn't, in her position?"

Larry found that hard to believe, even though he hadn't known her for very long. This must have shown in his expression.

"Perhaps she is not trying to deceive you," Richard added. "She may be trying to save you, in the event that her side wins, and S.U.N falls; she is trying to bring you to the side that she believes is in the right."

"In any case, I would not advise you to see her."

"I don't think…" Larry began.

"This _has _to be what she is doing." His father insisted. "Why do you think she is so ready to trust you? For all she knows you could be feigning friendliness to get information out of her. "

"Well I… I mean…" This thought had never occurred to him. Why _did_ she trust him so easily, even when he admitted to being responsible for her kidnapping? Why was she so ready to accept his offer of friendship?

He didn't want to believe it, but what his father said made sense.

"Just to give you some thought." Richard said "By the by: we are having another meeting next Wednesday at seven p.m., and I expect you to be there."

"Yeah, o-okay." His head was lowered.

"I'm sorry my boy, but you must remember; everyone who will be loyal only to _them _cannot be our allies, let alone are friends. You need to see them as your enemies."

"I do." Larry said.

But he thought about Petunia and her seemingly genuine kindness, in spite of the mess he had gotten her in. He thought about Mr. Nezzer and the Gordon brothers, who knew very little about his background and home life, yet accepted him when no one else would and gave him their friendship when he had none his whole life.

And he wasn't so sure he could call them his enemies.


	10. The Truth, and Nothing But The Truth

_Gosh, I'm so so sorry it took this long. _

_Things in this chapter will get pretty deep. _

* * *

In the day of the siege, and his third son's murder, King Hugh had aged nearly ten years.

And now, as Prince Robert looked at him, he seemed to be aging right before his eyes.

"Why would they want Petunia, of all people?"

"I guess she was the only one of us they could get hold of." That was the only answer the crown prince could think of.

His father rubbed a weary hand over his eyes. "I suppose, she was always linked to that day, in my mind; she came into this world within the same hours your brother left it."

Robert bit his lip. "Everyone's either admired or despised her from day one; ever since she was baptized in the silver font of royalty, a baby of the lowest birth, wrapped in silk and held in the queen's arms."

Hugh shook his head. "I've heard this song before. Do you think Burdock may be jealous?"

"Of what?"

"Of the Rhubarbs. He was a Viscount before the siege, and not only did it fail and loose everything to his name, but a small family of indentured servants found their way into our favor because of the events that resulted."

The heir apparent shrugged. "I don't know, but for Petunia's sake, I hope not."

* * *

"Things have been really getting out of hand around these parts."

"I'll say."

Larry had met up with Bob again the next evening, while both were returning home from their respective jobs.

"I keep hearing these rumors," Bob continued. "About S.U.N: One person says that the mayor of Pettingill is secretly hosting them as guests in his property, another says that they're kidnapping babies, like they kidnapped Petunia Rhubarb and the third prince."

"I don't think that's true," Larry said. "At least the last one. People make up and believe the weirdest things when something big happens."

"Very true." The other man agreed. "Besides, I think that if S.U.N was really kidnapping children right and left like the rumors say, they would be more than just rumors; we'd be hearing more about it."

He then turned to Larry with a tired grin. "Pretty cheerful, huh?"

"Cheerful as a rainy day." Larry chuckled.

"I'll probably hit my head repeatedly against the side of the _Lisa _if it gets any more 'cheerful'." Bob joked. "Let's change the subject."

Larry tried not to look relieved. "Okay; there's something I wanted to ask you anyway."

"Which is…?"

"If you're new in the fishing business, what were you doing before, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I don't mind." He leaned back on the bench. "I did desk jobs, mostly."

"That's pretty different than fishing."

"It is; but I found this more… fulfilling. I wake up at the crack of dawn and see the sunrise every day, smell the crisp morning air over the lake, get to use my hands and build callouses. I feel useful."

"That's exactly how I feel about working for Mr. Nezzer." Larry affirmed. "Course it's not outdoors, and there's no fishy smell… oh wait, maybe that's a good thing."

The other man laughed. "After a few days, you don't even notice the smell." He laughed again. "But my wife sure does; I can't give her a 'Honey-I'm-home' kiss without taking a two hour bath and a change of clothes."

Larry chuckled at that, then said. "Oh, you're married?"

"Yep." Bob reached into the coin pouch hanging from his belt and produced a gold ring, holding it up proudly. "Five years, as of March third." He put the gold circle on his finger. "I can't wear this while working, for obvious reasons; wouldn't want it to end up in someone's entrée."

"What's her name?" Larry asked eagerly.

"Genevieve."

"That's a really pretty name."

"A really pretty name for a really beautiful girl." Bob sighed dreamily.

"Well of course." Larry affirmed. "Genevieve, huh? It sounds French."

"That's because she is French: She's the widow of a baker from Alsace. She's got the prettiest accent."

The skinny youth smiled. "Gee, marriage sounds swell."

"That's one way to put it. Do you ever plan to get married?" Bob queried.

Larry sighed. "I'd love to, if I found the right girl, but I don't think I'll be able to for a long time; my home life is kinda… hectic."

"Ah." Bob didn't press for more details, and for that Larry was grateful. "Well, you're still really young; you've got plenty of time."

"Well anyway, I'm not so sure any girl would be too crazy about… all _this._" He motioned towards himself.

"Hey now: if I can't insult myself in front of you, then you can't insult yourself in front of me." The older man scolded

"You're really nice, but it's true; I'm no Prince Charming."

"You are compared to _me_."

"Now _you're _insulting yourself."

"Don't sell yourself short;" Bob continued. "You're tall, you're strong, you're not ugly, and you've got a steady, well-paying job. Compared to a lot of guys around here, you're practically Adonis."

"Who's that?"

"Some guy from ancient Greece; probably fictional, famous for being really handsome."

"Oh. I see."

* * *

This time he had no excuse: His father had put the kibosh on his daily visits to Petunia, he was absolutely, positively forbidden.

He was an obedient son; it wasn't in his nature to rebel against authority or his parent, no matter how difficult the command.

Until now, that is.

He tried not to, but he couldn't stop thinking about Petunia, all by herself in her dank makeshift cell, twiddling her thumbs and stretching out children's books to last for hours while he did his day to day activities and enjoyed human company, while he saw the sun rise and set.

He thought of her being taken away, seeing the sun again for a few hours only to be shuttled away again in a dark and dismal fortress, along with the country's most hardened criminals.

He thought about this all day, and into the evening. She was probably waiting for him right now, wondering why he wasn't there. Did she think he had grown bored, or stopped caring? Did she think she had lost the only friend she had in that heaven forsaken place?

That evening, as he tried and failed to sleep, he came to the realization that he _could not_ leave her alone. He couldn't obey his father this time.

He would have to be sneaky.

* * *

Petunia had found herself looking forward to Larry's evening visits; not merely because they were the only diversion she had these days, but because she enjoyed his company.

She enjoyed talking to him, she felt comfortable around him, in spite of his affiliation with… _them._ There were times when she forgot that he was, and that he had been the person to get her in this predicament.

It was impossible not to smile when he was around, because he said the most endearing things, because he somehow knew exactly how to cheer her up, and because his smile was like a little sliver of sunshine.

He was the only reason her stay here was bearable.

So she didn't worry when he did not show up the fifth day. She couldn't expect him to be here _every _day. He was probably detained, or maybe someone had gotten wise to his comings and goings. She had no reason to be concerned.

* * *

"Psssst, Petunia."

"Hmn?" She had been deep in some dream, and was pulled back up from the land of Nod by a hand gently shaking her shoulder.

"Mmm… couple more minutes Ma." She mumbled, then turned over to regain sleep.

The voice spoke a little louder. "I don't really sound like your mom, do I?"

Her eyes fluttered open, met stone wall, then she looked over her shoulder. "Larry?"

He was kneeling by her cot, lit oil lamp in hand, his eyes shifting around nervously.

She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "What're you doing here so late… or is it early?"

"It's three in morning." He answered softly. "I'm sorry to wake you up at this hour, but it's kinda important."

If he hadn't already gotten her attention, he did now. "What is it?"

"Someone caught me coming to visit you the day before yesterday."

"Oh!" Her hand flew to her mouth. "I was afraid this would happen!"

"Actually, I'm not in as much trouble as you'd think."

"You see," He explained. "I was never technically forbidden from seeing you, but now that they know I am, I… er… am."

"I don't quite understand."

He gave a tired sigh. "I'm not exactly popular in this group; they say I'm a pushover. Richard Burdock's afraid you'll… well… win me to your side."

He saw her expression harden at the mention of the leader. "I see." She replied. "So this time, you're really, for sure not allowed to see me?"

"Exactly." He nodded. "That's why it took me so long to get here; I had to come at a time when the guards wouldn't be expecting me."

She mulled this over. "You'll get into an awful lot of trouble if you're caught." She pointed out.

"Don't remind me."

"Just because I'm lonely?"

"Well, no one wants to be alone."

She was quiet for a moment. "You would do that? For me?"

"Well, yeah." He replied, as if it was the obvious answer.

A slow smile began to pull at the corners of her mouth. "But, you hardly know me, and we're on opposite sides."

His gaze darted to his lap "I know; but I'm the one who got you into this mess, and I want to make it up to you. My fight's with the royal family, not you."

Her smile widened. "I'll accept that, for now."

He wet his lips nervously, eyes still downwards. "Can… can I ask you a personal question?"

"Sure."

He took a deep breath, then looked back up at her. "Why do you trust me?"

She blinked, then looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. "Why do I… _trust _you?" She repeated.

He nodded. "Yeah, you… seem to."

She sensed the unspoken question. _You _do _trust me, do you?_

She thought about it.

It occurred to her for the first time that, if he was that sort of person, he could have taken advantage of her by now, in more ways than one.

He was a young man, in peak health, and she was a young woman, also in good health and considered attractive by many. Every visit, they had been completely alone, and if he was telling the truth, no one had even known he'd been here, up until last night.

And yet, in all the times he had been here, even during his first visit, when she didn't know him and she was partly lame and at her most vulnerable, the thought never crossed her mind. She'd never felt uncomfortable or suspicious in the very least, or had even an inkling of the impression that he had some ulterior motive.

This was partly because she got the impression that he was bad at hiding things; if he had a secret, she would know about it. It was also because he seemed so innocent and childlike, that he didn't seem capable of even thinking such rotten things.

If he was lying, he was an _extremely _good actor.

"I _do_ trust you." She said at last, and his shoulders sagged in relief and she realized he had been holding his breath.

"And as to _why_ : I don't really see what you would have to gain from tricking me."

He gave an uneasy smile. "A lot, to be honest."

She gave a tiny laugh. "I think," She continued. "That what I really trust is the Lord and the judgment he's giving me."

His brow creased in disbelief. "I'm not so sure about that."

"Excuse me?" She was unable to keep the annoyance from her tone.

He held up his hands in defense. "No offense but, has he told you anything really important? Like who I am?"

There was something in his tone, something jittery and guilty. Her expression softened. "Larry, what are you saying?"

"Cobb isn't my real last name; it's what I tell everyone it is."

"Oh?"

He took a steadying breath. "I might as well tell you. Richard Burdock…"

"Yes?"

"He's my Dad."

* * *

( _Insert dramatic music.)_

_No prizes for guessing who Genevieve is._

_Next chapter will be up ASAP._


	11. Plots, Confessions, Etcetera

It took her a second or two for the words to really sink in. When they did, she felt her eyes pop and her jaw go slack.

Did he really say _dad?_

He couldn't have! He couldn't be! _The_ Richard Burdock?!

He was joking. She had misheard. A million excuses flew through her brain to tell her it was not true.

She looked at him, _really _looked at him; both men where tall and thin, and both had brown hair, but that was as far as the similarities went.

She mentally compared him to the few portraits she had seen of Burdock; she compared the soft features and warm hazel eyes to the sharp embittered face and steely grey eyes of the horrible man to whom life had not always been kind. She compared the stories she had heard of the cutthroat, would-be usurper and baby killer to this kind, sweet young man before her who wrote stories for children and went to a great deal of trouble and risked the wrath of the nation's most hardened traitors merely to see that she was more comfortable.

It just didn't add up.

"You can't be." She heard herself saying, head shaking. "You can't be the son of Burdock."

"But I am." He insisted, in a tiny voice.

"But it's … _impossible!_" She insisted though she knew very well that it was. Richard had a wife, The Baroness Alice Pflaume, who disappeared along with her husband twenty-three years ago, but they had been childless for years by the time of the attack on the palace.

"It's true!" He exclaimed. "I was born a few weeks after the siege."

This was plausible, but she still had difficulty wrapping her mine around both facts: That Richard and Alice Burdock had a son, and that the son was Larry.

He watched the shock on her face, the thoughts race in her head. A tiny part of him felt relieved that he didn't have to hide it from her any longer, but most of him felt dreaded anticipation of how she would react, how she would see him.

She undoubtedly believed his father was a monster, had grown up with this belief, and with good reason. Now, would she see him only as the son of a monster? The heir of the most hardhearted traitor in the nation?

Was their brief friendship over?

He waited for her reaction, breath held, heart thumping with trepidation.

Her expression was unreadable. At length, her hands slid up her lap toward her knees, then paused. After a second longer, she lifted them, and slowly reached forward, clasping them to his own with a warm squeeze.

A slow, gentle smile began to play on her features. Relief wrapped around him like a warm blanket.

"I don't know your father very well, nor do I want to, but I can already tell that you are nothing like the man I've heard him to be."

He didn't even try to hide his relieved smile as he nodded eagerly. "Yes! I'm nothing like my dad; we're as different as night and day." Then he added. "But I love him. I know he's done some horrible things, but he didn't like doing them, he _hated _doing them: he's not a monster to me."

She nodded, still smiling. "I know that; I know you love him, and I respect that very much."

She gave a little sigh. "Listen, I realize that we may not ever see eye-to-eye in this whole thing, that my loved ones are your enemies and vice versa, but right here, right now, let's focus on what we have in common, on what makes you and me friends."

He listened to her speech with admiration. He felt her warm hands, strong and slender, lined with callouses, wrapped around his own. He felt her thumb brush across his palm as she spoke, making the skin there tingle for some reason, but ignored that.

"Yeah," He concurred with a smile. "Let's do that."

* * *

If the washerwoman who did the laundry for the Cobb household noticed any new dresses, she automatically assumed they belonged to the housekeeper. And normally she would have been right.

She might have noticed the bright coral-pink cotton dress, and concluded that Miss Achmetha finally gained some tasteful clothing, a pity it was stained and ripped, though. She was able to get the dust stains out for the most part, but Achmetha would have to do the mending herself.

But the domestic never saw the dress, for it vanished from the basket as soon as the washerwoman returned it and was out of sight.

* * *

"I'm certainly glad to see all your smiling faces this evening." Burdock stated dryly.

Wednesday evening came; the day of the first meeting since the Braeburn rally. Most of S.U.N's inner circle were fidgeting in their seats around the great table in the wine cellar of the Burdock/Cobb house, anxious about the unforeseen development and what it would lead to.

However, the person to blame for said development seemed, oddly distracted. Larry sat in his chair, chin propped in hand, only half listening while a shadow of a smile played on his face, as if he had some happy secret.

"We will have to lay low for a while yet," Richard continued. "This has nothing to do with The Gardener's Daughter recently stumbling into our midst; it had been part of the plan all along." They rarely referred to Petunia by name anymore: she was either called "The girl", "The flower girl", or "the Gardener's daughter". At the mention of the situation, most present at the table shifted their gazes to Larry, who remained blissfully unaware.

"Our next mission should be for leading the authorities down the wrong trail, and to gain intelligence."

Appley smirked. "I'm afraid that leaves out a great deal of us Richie; not naming names."

"Sooch as tha' beanpole." Parsnip muttered next to her. To his surprise, the woman gave him an irritated jab in the ribs.

"You mean we won't be breaking things and making a lovely mess like last time?" Alvin asked with obvious disappointment.

"Oh, we'll be making a mess," Richard assured him. "But the only thing we'll be breaking is undeserved reputations."

This had everyone's attention, except Larry's.

As Burdock continued to speak, the man sitting next to his son, a relatively new member by the name of Proteus Scallion looked at him with a puzzled frown.

He leaned toward him. "Aren't you even listening?" He asked Larry in a whisper.

"Hm?" Larry was shaken from whatever fantasy world he had been in and turned to the other man. "Sorry; did you say something?"

"Never mind," Proteus replied. "You just answered my question."

Larry only gave a shrug before turning once again to his father, his eyes glazing over once more. Proteus continued to study him.

"While we shall have to lie low for a while yet," Richard was saying. "The opportunity to frame a member of the royal council itself and get the kingdom riled up will be coming soon."

"The Count of Bosc is planning a large feast to celebrate his wife's fiftieth birthday; not because he gives two copper pieces about the old bag, mind you, but because he's always looking for reasons to throw parties and impress his peers." A few people rolled their eyes, not so much at the Count's extravagance, but at the reminder of Burdock's burning hatred towards big parties, thanks to his father and stepmother.

"This is all _very _fascinating," The Alchemist began, "But how are we going to use this to our advantage?"

"Our resident socialite has been invited to the get-together," Their leader answered. "She will be in the man's house and she will find a way to access the rooms. If she is careful, she can plant evidence implicating him of conspiring with me."

"But he hasn't." Larry said, paying just a little more attention, but not enough to really _get _it.

Some people snorted, some rolled their eyes. Appley bit her lip, and Parsnip's brows furrowed at her conspicuous silence.

Richard gave his son a pointed look. "Use your brain, Lawrence."

The boy's eyes widened in realization. "Oh…"

"It will have to be subtle." Richard continued. "Placed in such a way that it could take days before anyone finds it, and it may take days more for them to report him to the authorities."

The others murmured to themselves or each other, remarking on the cleverness of this plan. Larry, however, stared bleakly at the surface of the table.

Try as he might, he couldn't conjure up any positive feelings for this plan. Even if the Count of Bosc was as lousy a person as his father said, he still probably didn't deserve to be falsely tried and punished for treason.

* * *

At this time, Petunia was preoccupied with the latest book Larry had brought her, a story about three singing oranges, when she was alerted to the sound of footsteps down the hall outside her door.

This meant someone was bringing her dinner. In a quick practiced move, she reached from where she was sitting on the floor to grab the blanket from her cot and wrapped it around herself. To the observer, she looked like she was keeping out the cold, but this was to hide both Larry's book and the borrowed dress she was wearing.

The bolt slid back and the door opened. The man who walked in looked a bit different than the guards who usually brought her food; he was more… washed and clean looking.

"Hope you like mutton stew," He muttered. "Cause it's on the menu."

She studied him. "You're new here, aren't you?" She remarked.

"Maybe." He replied enigmatically, setting the bowl down in front of her. "Nice of you to notice."

The question came out of her mouth before she could think. "What's your name?"

_Why did I ask that? Of course he won't… _

"Tertius Scallion." He replied. And with that he was gone.

She decided to feel surprised later: in the meantime, she was famished.

She didn't even care that the stew was lukewarm. She took two, maybe three bites when the spoon picked up something strange, something that looked like a ball of red sealing wax.

She picked it out and found that it _was _made of red sealing wax, fashioned into a ball the size of a walnut. She carefully pried it open.

In the center was a scrap of paper, folded over many times. She unfurled it, heart pounding, and squinted at the letters in the dim light of her oil lamp. As she read, her breath caught in her throat.

_I'm on your side. More details tonight. _

* * *

"I've brought your dress back."

"Oh, thanks."

Both of them were distracted on this visit; so distracted that neither noticed that the _other_ person was distracted.

True to his word, Larry returned her newly cleaned pink dress, almost good as new except for a tear or two. Petunia folded it in an attempt to stall, unable to come up with any good topic.

"So…" He started.

"So…?"

"How'd you like the new book?"

"I liked it very much; better than the first one."

"Good."

More awkward silence.

Petunia wondered if she should mention the mysterious message she had received a couple hours previous, but decided against it.

Instead she asked. "How's your day been?"

"It's been good." He replied.

Petunia noticed the weird tension. _Oh, this is ridiculous. _She thought_. You trust him; you enjoy having him here; don't spoil his visit. _

And then, a subject came to her. "I know chances are that you won't tell me…" She started. "But what exactly do you do for a living."

He seemed a tiny bit surprised at this question. She cheered inwardly when a playful smile appeared on his face. "Betcha' can't guess." He dared.

"Oh really?" She smirked. "Let's see; you're good at explaining things clearly and in a way that makes things interesting… I can already tell that you love children… and you've written that can encourage them to read…You're a teacher!"

He made a face. "A teacher? I'm too dumb for that!"

"Who says?" She demanded.

"I says." He refuted with a grin.

"That's very bad grammar; 'I says'. Really."

"Proves my point exactly." He said with a nod.

She giggled, and he asked. "Do I really explain things clearly and in an interesting way?"

"Why yes."

"I never noticed that." He remarked thoughtfully.

"It's true." She insisted. "You're every bit as smart as anyone who teaches in the schoolhouses aroundhere."

He was smiling again. "Ah, shucks. Just for that, I'll tell you what I do for a living."

"What?"

"I work at the local publisher/printing press."

"Really; that's interesting."

"As interesting as watching paint dry." He teased.

"Now cut that out!"

He gave a pleased chuckle, and she felt odd warmth in her chest. She shook it off.

His gaze went to the dress folded on the cot. "What I wish I was right now is a tailor: we need to find you another spare dress; I don't think Miss… er, my housekeeper, will let me borrow it again."

Petunia nodded. "I was thinking the same thing."

"I wonder…" she began. "Nah."

"What?"

"No, it's too much trouble; you'd probably get caught."

"At least _tell _me."

"It would cost you maney." She warned.

"I've got spare change." He shrugged.

" Well, if it's not too much money and trouble… you could bring in the materials and I could sew myself a new dress in here."

His eyebrows lifted. "Can you do that? Without being caught?"

"Yes! I can hide the stuff under the blankets when they come in and out and no one would be the wiser."

His voice lowered to a conspiring tone. "What'll ya need?"

"A few yards of wool… I remember how much for my own measurements… some pins and needles… strong thread… and scissors."

"That's easy!" He declared. "I'll have all that stuff in a heartbeat! My Housekeeper already has a bunch of sewing supplies: all I have to buy is the cloth."

"Wonderful!" She exclaimed, practically clapping her hands in delight but remembering that they were supposed to be quiet. "And it'll give me something to do!"

"Gosh, this sounds kinda fun." Larry noted. "In a… weird sort of way."

She giggled again. "Whatever floats your boat, I guess."

* * *

_Whew! My wonderful adorable babies! _

_In case you were wondering, Proteus means 'First' , and Tertius means "Third". Pflaume is supposed to be the German word for "plum", and 'Bosc" is a pear breed. _

_Now you know._


	12. Bits of Wax

_Gosh; I'm so sorry this took for-flippin'-ever, but school's started and has to take top priorit, thus updates will be slower in coming. I don't think this chapter is very exciting, but it should be informative. _

* * *

Their plans almost made Petunia forget about the secret message, and the visitor she was expecting.

It wasn't until Larry bade her good night and left, when the memory returned with feelings of trepidation.

Had they come already? Did they overhear her talking with Larry and get scared away?

Were they really on her side as they claimed?

She stood before the door, not sure what to expect, feeling queasy from anticipation, listening for any sounds, preferably footsteps.

She experienced maybe twenty minutes of silence before her ears picked up the faintest, most faraway scritch-scratch, beyond the wind moaning through the halls.

She held her breath as the sound grew closer, feeling… dread? Excitement? She wasn't sure.

It _was _footsteps, but not of one person.

Oh no; It was the guards; it had to be.

They'd heard Larry again, and were coming to investigate, or maybe catch him in the act.

But the steps she heard were not the confident tromps of her jailers; they were hurried and quiet.

They stopped right in front of the door.

Silence.

Then a tiny rap on the door, so soft she almost missed it.

"C- come in…" Her voice came out in a feeble squeak.

The sound of the bolt drawing back seemed to echo through the halls, the door opened just a little: enough for her to see the smiling face of the man who had brought her dinner. What was his name? Tertius.

"How'd you like the stew?" He asked with a knowing grin.

A smile of her own spread across her face. "It was lovely; but someone left a bit of wax in it."

"Some people are just that careless." He replied with a shrug. And with that, he opened the door wider and she saw the other two men with him, both a little taller and thinner than he was.

The trio looked so much alike that they had to be brothers; with their combed back hair and similar expressions, and matching pairs of green eyes; not as green as hers, but more than Larry's (okay, she seriously needed to stop thinking about his eyes).

"Might we come in?" The tallest, and presumably oldest, asked with a crisp British accent.

"Yes; by all means."

The three slipped in and closed the door carefully behind them. "Allow me to introduce myself," The tallest spoke again. "My name is Proteus Scallion, and these are my brothers: Secundus, and you've already met Tertius."

"A pleasure." The other two said simultaneously. All three gave a sweeping bow, not unlike Archie had when she first met him, what felt like a lifetime ago, and she found herself blinking rapidly to hold back the tears prickling in the corners of her eyes.

"It's… nice to make your acquaintances." She replied, rather uneasily, not entirely sure what to make of these men or whether to trust them.

Proteus drew himself to his full height and flashed her a charming smile. "No doubt you are wondering why we're here?"

"Yes, now that you mention it."

"We, my lady, are double agents in his Majesty King Hugh's service."

She gasped, like a ninny, and clapped her hands over her mouth. She stood dumbstruck for a moment. "Double agents?! Really?! The King knows about all that's going on?"

"I know it's rather difficult to believe." Proteus admitted. "And, while the King's been aware of many of S.U.N's doings, he doesn't know _all: _the Braeburn mess was just as much a surprise to us as it was to you."

"We've only been in the group's inner circle for a few days." Tertius spoke up. "Until then, we only heard snippets and pieces of the more important, top secret plans."

Secundus spoke for the first time. "And even the stuff we _do _know has to be handled with extreme caution. If we relay too much information between our base and the royal residences, the wrong person could get a hold of them."

"Where is your base?" Petunia asked them.

"Ah; we're getting to that." Proteus said with a raised finger, like her lecturers and tutors did when asked a pivotal question.

"The King, General Turnipus, Colonel Kale, and His Grace the Earl of Pomodori, were for many years to only people outside of S.U.N who knew it was still in operation. The Earl and General had been hearing rumors in this area for quite some time, and finally established a spy base in His Grace's house four years ago."

"The Earl hired three of his most trusted and loyal servants, who happened to be yours truly, to join S.U.N one way or another to spy and keep tabs on the doings of the organization."

"It wasn't very hard," Tertius said. "All we had to do was complain about being poor and doing horribly, gripe about the policies of the kings and his council, and _poof: _They invite us to join."

"Well, perhaps not _that _simple," Proteus amended. "It took us several months, but you get the idea. The organization looks for hard-pressed people, citizens who've been having financial troubles, or problems with corrupt authorities, and S.U.N sends a member or two disguised as a good Samaritan to befriend them, to provide emotional and even financial support. Once they have their trust, they slowly and very subtly poison their mind against the King, his family, and his council: they convince the less fortunate that the king is somehow to blame for their problems. Once they have completely convinced this poor person, they imply that there may be an organization to stop him and invite them to join."

"How terrible!" Petunia declared.

"How _effective: _they've managed to snare at least two-hundred people this way."

"Two _hundred?_"

"At least."

Her head spun at the thought. "That's incredible! Horrible!"

"Richard Burdock is the master of persuasion," Proteus stated. "And he's trained the others quite well."

_Yet he can't convince his own son to break up his friendship with me. _She thought wryly. Something occurred to her. "Wait… if you and your employer; the Earl What's-his-name, know all this then surly you know most of the members."

"That we do." Secundus nodded.

"Including Appley?"

"Yes."

"Then why haven't you busted her in all this time?"

They all gave a tired sigh. "Don't think we haven't tried." Proteus said with a humorless chuckle. "Problem is, Dame Appley's far too clever: She has covered her trail to almost perfection, she's assisted in many financial debacles concerning the area, and her family is very well renowned. No judge will touch her without solid evidence, and we can't find any to incriminate her."

"Oh how frustrating! And she's right under the council's noses!"

"Don't remind us."

Petunia wrung her hands as she tried to process all this information. "Why are you telling me all this; what do you need me to do?"

Proteus grew somber. "Absolutely nothing. We merely wanted you to know that you're not alone," He then gave her a knowing smile. "Although you could have told us that already."

She realized that he was referring to Larry, and for some reason felt heat rise to her cheeks.

"Oh don't worry; we won't tell anyone; we have no reason to, and the boy seems harmless."

"He _is _harmless," Petunia asserted. "I won't tell him anything you've told me."

The three nodded. "Be of good cheer, Miss Rhubarb," Proteus said. "The king knows that you are alive and well, and the location of your imprisonment."

"He does?! Will he be able to rescue me?"

"I'm afraid it's too risky at the moment; too many unknowns. But we will do everything in our power to get you out soon!"

"What are the heads of S.U.N planning now?" She asked.

"There is some master plan that Burdock and his closest confidants have hatched: even most of the inner circle doesn't know all the details, but we _do _know that the next step involves framing the Count of Bosc and making it appear he is an accomplice."

"Oh no!" She shook her head. "Is there nothing you can do?"

"We can't stop them cold," Secundus said. "But," He adopted a sly grin. "We _can _prevent them from succeeding."

* * *

Charlotte stared at the manor, sizing it up.

The day of the Countess' birthday feast had arrived, and the grounds were filled with carriages and horses belonging to the guests, all of whom were the very cream of society.

As her coachman helped her from her carriage and lead her to the front door, the usher turned to her with a congenial grin. "Ah, Dame Appley; welcome to Bosc Manor! I trust your journey was a safe one?"

She painted a convincing smile on her face. "It was hardly a journey." She replied politely. "But it was a smooth trip, all the same."

The man nodded, then stepped to the side for her to pass. "The Count and Countess are both looking forward to seeing you." He told her as she walked into the hall.

_At least one of them is. _She thought with a smirk.

The feast was already beginning when she was led to her place at the great table. She was surrounded by men and woman draped head to toe in silks and velvets, but she had no fear of being outshone, in her crimson gown.

But it was tough competition, even by the birthday girl herself; the Countess was positively _dripping _with jewels; diamonds, emeralds, pearls, you name it. They were sewn onto her dress and set in her headdress, covering her neck and jangling at her wrists, winking from her fingers. The woman was almost literally wearing her entire wealth and station.

It was ridiculous, really; far from hiding the fact she was no longer young, the excess of gems drew attention to her fading looks. She reminded Charlotte of a building her father owned: the wood was rotting and in great need of renovation, but her father merely painted or gilded over the rotten parts, and the affect was quite pitiful.

She looked around the hall, taking in her surroundings and calculating. There were guards standing at every entryway and exit, but this was normal, a formality. All she would have to do was make some excuse, like needing to visit the water closet, and if it grew too difficult a simple bat of her eyelashes at the very _male_ guards would have them easing their demeanor.

As she was looking, the Count himself saw her, from his place next to the lady of honor, and gave Charlotte what was supposed to be a subtly seductive grin, but only served to make her glad she had control of her gag reflex. It wasn't merely her wealth and station that got her invited to this get together. Oh well, the conundrum of having a pretty face.

The Countess saw this and gave the socialite a discreetly evil look, while her husband jumped with a wince, probably kicked in the shin by the Missus.

_Busted. _Charlotte thought gleefully. _Don't worry Countess Honey; you can have him. _

But she wasn't here for dirt or fashion appraisal, she had a mission.

She waited until the feast itself had ended and the music and dancing commenced. She did a couple of steps with the other guests, narrowly avoiding the eager Count, and then slipped toward the east exit, where she knew a rout that led from the water closet to the Count's study.

Tucked safely in her bodice was a half scorched, "encrypted" fragment of a letter, written in Burdock's handwriting, that could be ferreted in the corner of the study's fireplace, just conspicuous enough to be noticed by a curious servant cleaning the ashes, and by all appearances something the count didn't want anyone else to see.

She also had Burdock's seal in red wax, broken into may pieces: a couple of these could be put here and there, to plant the seeds of suspicion that His Grace was in secret communication with someone; and if enough pieces of the seal could be found, someone could put them together and…

"Halt!"

She felt a strong hand grip her elbow gently but firmly. Fighting back a glare, she spun around to see the stern face of one of the guards. "Pardon me?" She asked innocently.

"Where are you going, Milady?"

"Oh," She feigned embarrassment. "I was… I had to… oh dear, how should I put this…. Take care of business." She managed to conjure up a small blush of discomfiture.

"I see; forgive me for embarrassing you, Miss, but I'm afraid I have to accompany you."

"What?"

"I'll only stand outside the door."

This wasn't something that usually happened, even in Bosc Manor, but she was nothing if not versatile.

"Is that _really_ necessary?" She whispered in a bashful tone. "Really _absolutely _necessary? I don't think I could stand…" She broke off, then gazed up at him coyly through her lashes. "Could we bend the rules just a teensy tiny bit, this time?"

The man merely averted his gaze, not looking directly at her pleading emerald-greens, expression never changing. "Sorry Ma'am, orders are orders."

This was a tough old bird. She gave a distressed huff. "Well, can't you just accompany me a little ways down the hall, then stop a few yards away? This is awfully embarrassing for me."

"Nope: can't."

She almost growled. "This wasn't a policy last time I came here!"

"I know Ma'am, but His Grace has to be cautious these days; he's received threats."

She almost gave a start. Surely he didn't mean… "Heavens! What kind of threats?"

"Can't say; but rumor has it, they involve S.U.N, if you can believe that."

"…"

"Miss?"

"Perhaps I'll wait." She muttered as she spun on her heel and rejoined to festivities.

It took every ounce of self-restraint and every acting skill to hide her anger and frustration. The only thought that went through her head the rest of her stay was the word _H__ow?! _

* * *

_The title for this chapter was picked because Sealing wax plays an important part of both plots._

_In case you don't know or haven't already guessed, a water closet is an old name for the toilet._


	13. Of Toads and Frogs

"Whadda ya' mean someone tipped them off?!"

"I mean exactly as I said, and the fact that you repeated it word for word…"

"This is an outrage! Ridiculous! How is such a thing possible?"

"You think I haven't spent the better part of today trying to figure it out?"

Appley's mission had failed; failed utterly. Burdock had called an emergency meeting, one that many members were unable to attend.

Larry _was_ able to attend. He sat in his chair feeling a mixture of relief and disappointment and confusion as Dame Appley told them every detail.

"They _know_: someone told them and the whole thing was ruined! I couldn't get past the heavies!"

"_Who_ could've told them?!" Celeriac ranted and raved. "Who among us is a two-faced, no good…?"

"Settle down." Richard grumbled to the old soldier. "My blood pressure's high enough without watching you blow up; we need to approach this calmly, rationally."

"Like heck!" Alvin snapped. "If _I _was there, I would've snuck through those guards!"

"If _you_ were there," Appley retorted. "They would've been worried about the weird little man who talked to the lamps, and they would have called in the dog-catcher to lasso you like the nut you are."

"No need to get huffy…" The man muttered.

"He has a point." The Alchemist said. "You're supposed to be the most sneaky, slippery spy in our operation, Appley; how could you not think of a solution to _erk!_"

The socialite grabbed his shirt and yanked him so close that their noses were almost touching, her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Listen; next time _you _go along and try to get past a wall of bodyguards, try to sneak a letter into the fireplace as a last ditch attempt in a room full of people, while trying to evade the grasp of a dirty old man and flatter his wife, who's glaring daggers at you the entire time. Only _then _can you tell me how easy it is!"

The former scholar nodded mutely, eyes wide, then was released.

"What did you do with the letter and wax?" Celeriac asked her.

"I threw them in the manor's rubbish heap: there's still some small chance that a beggar will find them and report that someone in the Count's household is in communication with Burdock, but it's very unlikely."

"Truly," Richard agreed. "Now two weeks of work has been wasted."

Larry had mixed feelings about this: on one hand, he was glad that some innocent person wasn't going to be tried, and possibly executed for treason they did not commit. On the other hand, this put a serious kink in their plans. His emotions were being pulled in two ways, like toffee.

"But we still need to find out who the informant is." Celeriac reminded Burdock, and glanced subtlety in Larry's direction. "Maybe someone with frequent contact with a close friend of the king." He whispered suggestively.

"At the moment," Richard answered as quietly. "The only person that may apply to is Charlotte, at least that we know of. I've scotched the other fraternization taking place."

"You sure?"

"You think I couldn't control my own family?"

* * *

True to his word, Larry brought all Petunia could need to sew herself a new dress. He did it very gradually, over a five day period, so his housekeeper wouldn't notice whole groups of items disappearing.

He ended up doing better than he promised. Instead of buying wool, he bought cotton; just a little more expensive but softer material, easier to work with and more comfortable against the skin.

He also ended up buying the thread, because he felt guilty taking things from the domestic servant without her knowledge if he couldn't return them at some point. Needles, thimbles, and scissors yes, thread and cloth no.

He would talk to her as she sewed, watching in fascination as if he'd never seen a million woman or girls working a needle and thread, outside while watching their stalls, or clustered together to pass the time.

Some of their most frequent topics involved her life growing up with the royal family.

"I think I know how you'd describe him, but what's the king like?"

She was cutting the cloth for a sleeve. "If I tell you you won't believe me; you already have an opinion of him."

"Maybe I want to hear yours." He shrugged.

She stretched her arm against the piece she'd cut out to make sure she'd measured correctly. "If I had to pick one word to describe him, it'd be 'fatherly'."

"He's a good dad?"

"He's an _excellent _dad," She specified. "And not just to his own children and grandchildren."

"Oh right; there's his goddaughter." He flashed her a knowing grin.

She smiled at him. "And his whole kingdom."

He looked puzzled. "That's weird. How can someone be a father to a kingdom?"

She wet the end of the thread and began to thread the needle, one eye squinted shut. "That's what being king's all about."

A crease appeared in his forehead, and she had an urge to smooth it out with her finger. "It is? I thought it was about making your country the best it could be."

She tied a small double knot in the other end of the thread and pushed the needle through the fabric. "I guess it's about that too, but you can't achieve it unless you achieve the first; you can't make your country great unless you show your subjects you love them and expect greatness from them, like a good father expects from his children."

He thought this over.

"Ouch!" She pricked her finger, popping it into her mouth automatically.

"You okay?" He asked.

"Yeah." She held it up to look at it. "Didn't even break the skin. I don't know what I was thinking: sewing without a thimble. Could you hand it to me Ste…?"

He shot her a confused look and she shook her head at her own gaffe. "_Larry:_ could you hand me the thimble _Larry, _please."

He handed it over. "What did you almost call me?"

"Nothing." She didn't know why she felt embarrassed at such a little mistake.

He broke into a teasing smile. "You were going to call me Stephan, weren't you?"

"No." She stated sharply. Then conceded, "I was going to call you 'Steve'."

He snickered and she shot him an annoyed glance. "You call the youngest prince 'Steve'?"

"Not in front of dignitaries." She shot back. "And I don't know why I almost called you that."

"Maybe you miss him." He suggested.

"Well, yeah."

He adopted a strange expression, his smile fading slightly. "Do you miss him… a lot?" he asked carefully.

"Of course I do: He's like the little brother I never had."

"He is?" Was it her imagination, or did Larry perk up a little?

"They all are; like brothers, I mean. I miss _everyone_ a lot. I didn't say anything because I didn't want you to be uncomfortable."

"Oh… no, no it's okay; I understand."

"Wait: did… you actually think I _liked _Prince Stephan?"

"I…" He flushed and looked down. "Well… I dunno… maybe?"

She scoffed at the thought. "Please! I babysat him; He's still little more than a kid."

"He's nineteen."

"He still has the peach fuzz fresh on his face." She insisted. "I mean, I'm not disrespecting him by any means, but I have trouble thinking of him being more than the little kid who used to sit for hours by the garden pond, looking for frogs."

"A prince looking for frogs?" Larry seemed genuinely surprised. "_I _used to do stuff like that."

"Yes; boys will be boys, although the king's oldest granddaughter, Princess Melissa, used to look for them too. Probably still does."

He blinked. "I never thought of that. I always thought the royal children spent most of the time inside, and only went out for a small walk or nature lesson."

"Not this family."

He looked really thoughtful, then gave a chuckle.  
"What?" She asked.

"I'm picturing the ten-year-old princess looking for frogs."

"Yep. She climbs trees too. Missy's one of a kind."

"Missy?"

"That's what we call her; she's a real ball of fire, that one."

He gave a thoughtful smile. "Huh; I always pictured that family to be more…dignified, serious."

"They can be, when they need to be."

"But when they don't?"

"They're very warm, and human."

* * *

He didn't know why the thought, however brief it lasted, that Petunia might've liked Prince Stephan more than a friend seemed so.. so…

Perplexing? Disquieting?

He didn't know _what_ it did to him. He didn't know why he felt relief when she said he was like a brother.

Why was this so important?

Then it came to him: she was from a very low position, but Stephan was one of the King's sons. If they fell in love, they could never marry; no one would allow it. Thus, falling in love with Stephan would only result in a broken heart.

But, seeing as she didn't, she wouldn't have a broken heart.

Yes. That was it. It had to be. He was concerned for her emotional well-being, nothing else.

* * *

Later that evening, she had two more visits.

The first was from the second Scallion brother, with good news on behalf of the trio.

"It worked!" He announced as he popped in.

"What worked?"

"Our foil to S.U.N's plot to incriminate the Count; we succeeded!"

She breathed a huge sigh. "Oh thank goodness! What happened?"

He entered the room and closed the door. "My brothers and I told our Employer, the earl, and he told the count that he'd heard rumors that the organization was sending an agent to do him harm. The count was warned to not, under any circumstances, let any guests walk around unattended."

"So he listened?"

"Good thing he did; Dame Charlotte Appley was the one carrying the false evidence, but she couldn't get past any of the body guards."

"Whew! Burdock must've been furious."

"He was." Secundus told her gleefully. "They all were."

* * *

The next visit was from probably the last person she expected.

In the wee hours of the morning, she was awakened by the sound of the bolt being drawn and the door creaking open.

Puzzled, and a little alarmed she sat up, blinking the sleep from her eyes, to see the tall figure of a man stride in. The door closed behind him, presumably by one of her guards.

The man stood before her. "Good; you're awake. This may make things slightly less unpleasant for both of us."

His voice was deep, proud, holding hint of refined distain. She watched him warily, the two studying each other.

Even in the dim light she felt there was something familiar about his face; sharp, furrowed like the trunk of an ancient oak, steely gray eyes piercing from beneath the gray brows. This was someone who had known hardship: perhaps not physically, but in his heart, and in his soul.

He seemed to be a hundred years of bitterness and loathing stuffed into a middle aged body.

In a flash, she knew.

"Richard Burdock, I presume?"


	14. Death Came to Dinner

A condescending sneer appeared on his face. "Very clever. Yes, I am he."

Her face became hard, deadpan, hiding the swell of dread rising in her chest.

It did little to help her: he knew she was frightened, and an amused smirk appeared on his features, illuminated ominously by the flickering taper he held. "Aren't you wondering why I'm here?"

"Maybe."

He merely shrugged his narrow shoulders. "Perhaps I'm curious; perhaps I wanted to finally meet the little servant girl who won the hearts of the royal family?"

She didn't reply, afraid that her voice might betray just how frightened she was.

"Well," The old man continued. "I must say, many stories I've heard seem to be true: you have so far proven to be every bit as lovely and clever as I've heard you to be, especially when one considers your… _humble _background."

She finally found her voice. "You must be referring to the assumption that being born to an upper class automatically makes you better in every way."

"Not _every _way." Burdock replied. "For example, my kind is absolutely _horrid_ at doing things like masonry, digging ditches, or scrubbing the floors. Your kind, on the other hand…"

She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "I've heard this all before." She managed to summon a casual tone and demeanor, her confidence rising slightly, though she knew to keep on guard with this man. "I've heard it for as long as I can remember, and probably longer than that."

He was unaffected by her speech. "Well then, I suppose you don't find it at all strange?"

_Here it comes. _"Find _what_ strange?"

"The royal family's sudden interest in you and your family's well-being, immediately after the death of their son?"

"If you're implying that they just took me in to fill the emotional void left by their son's _murder,_" She added emphasis on 'murder'. "Than I've heard that too. I know for a fact it's not true, and nothing anyone can say will convince me otherwise."

"Oh no, I was referring to something else, though that _is_ a highly plausible theory."

"What great conclusion have you come to?" She asked dryly.

"Popularity, my dear."

She raised a brow. "Excuse me?"

"Simple: a ruler can claim he understands and cares for the masses, for the common man, but how can he really _prove _it?"

"Let me guess…"

"By taking in a low-born family under his wing: taking a guttersnipe as his ward and treating it like his own child will prove to the common folk that he is willing to hold their hand, to give them his undivided love and attention. It's the most brilliant campaign he can devise."

She sighed to show she was unconvinced. "Well, I haven't heard _that_ one, but I knew some people were thinking of it; people who don't know the royal family inside and out like I do."

"Just food for thought." He replied.

His eyes widened and he snapped his fingers as if he'd just remembered something. "Oh, by the way, I have one more question."

"And that is…?"

"How is Larry doing?"

She blanched, the blood draining from her face. "W-_what?_"

"My son; Laurence, you seem to be seeing him more than I am."

"No." She said, too quickly. "I haven't seen anyone besides the guards." Her voice was too hushed, too hurried. "I didn't even know you had a son." All of her courage and confidence flew out the proverbial window.

"Good." He stated, obviously unconvinced by her terrible acting. "Because my Laurence is rather impressionable; someone might fill his head with ideas."

She scooted back, pressing her back against the wall along her cot. "O-oh?"

"Bad ideas too; the sort that my organization tried to discourage."

She swallowed thickly.

"We can't have _that_, now can we?"

She shook her head, willing herself to melt through the walls against her back, feeling claustrophobic despite the fact Burdock had barely moved from his spot.

"No…" She said in a small voice, feeling utterly defeated.

Then, one stride, he was right before her, just centimeters separating them, face hard and gaze flinty. She almost screamed. "Then listen to me, Girlie:" He hissed venomously. "I won't stand around while some dirt-digging wretch undoes twenty-three years of hard work! You stay away from my son! If I have even the slightest reason to believe his ideals are no longer completely compatible, if he says one _word _of dissent against my plans, I will hold _you_ responsible, and your name will only serve as a cold warning to those who cross SUN: a red smudge on the pages of history!"

She leaned back, eyes wide, to terrified to nod, or speak, or do anything but tremble, gasping for breath, feeling as though a hand was around her throat.

Satisfied, Burdock stepped back, expression softening just a little bit. "I'm glad we had the chance to talk Miss Rhubarb: thank you for your time."

And with that, he left her.

She sat there; white and shaken like a wraith, for a full six minutes before remembering to breathe.

* * *

She was dangerous.

He already knew she might be, but seeing her face-to-face confirmed it.

Richard trudged home in the dark, his lantern swinging. He knew there was no guarantee that his scare tactic would work, he wasn't entirely sure if Larry was obeying his command or not, if he was still seeing the girl. He merely figured, an ounce of prevention…

She was a very specific danger. She was every bit as beautiful as Dame Appely, but in an entirely different way; one that was far more wholesome and innocent, projecting the air of a small woodland creature that needed protecting, while at the same time strong and holding the conviction of a saint.

The kind of girl that would draw Laurence in like a bee to honey.

He was beginning to wonder if she was more trouble than she was worth.

He arrived to his domicile, making his way quietly to his study so as not to wake up Larry or Achemetha. He set the lantern on his desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a rolled piece of canvas that he gently unfurled.

It was a portrait, painted in oils, of a young brown-haired woman in her late twenties, with an air of delicacy and frailty.

"Well Alice, what would you recommend in this situation?"

He set the picture down on his desk, frowning at the places where the paint had chipped off.

"I don't think I can control him." Richard sighed. "He is the kindest, gentlest, most obedient person I've ever known, and yet I have less control over him than I have over anyone else."

He paused, fingering the edges of the canvas. "Perhaps if you were here; he always seemed to listen to you more. I'm just a voice crowing in the background like a rooster."

He sat in the desk chair and leaned back with a tired sigh. "A million young girls in the kingdom, and he doesn't notice any of them; I'm afraid he might notice _this_ one."

* * *

Something was off about Petunia this time.

Larry never claimed to be very observant, but he could tell that something was troubling her. She hardly spoke to him at all during his visit, except for a few polite words to thank him for the treat of walnuts he'd brought, and the occasional nod as he told her about his day. Her eyes remained cast down, focusing on her sewing, hardly ever making eye contact.

She barely even smiled, and she looked kind of pale.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She assented. "I just… had trouble sleeping last night."

"Bad dreams?"

"There was definitely a nightmare involved." For just a fraction of a second her old self came through in a joke, but then she was quiet again.

"Can you tell me about it? It might help."

"I'd rather not." She answered in a small voice.

"Okay." He knew better than to press. "Just so you know: I'm here if you need a listening ear."

"Thanks." She whispered.

He took a good look at her. She was _definitely_ paler than she had been a few hours ago. He tried to strike up another conversation. "Tell me more about the royal family, please."

"I… I'd rather not, right now." She stated. But she looked up. "Tell me more about yourself. What are your parents usually doing right now?'

He raised a confused brow. "Did you say, "parent_s'_?"

She nodded, wondering why this was such an odd thing.

Then he realized, "Ohhh; I forgot that you didn't know."

"Know what?"

"My mom's dead."

She nearly pricked herself with the needle again. "Oh. _Oh, _I'm sorry! I didn't know, or I wouldn't have said anything!"

"It's okay; not many people outside of SUN know that, I guess; I sometimes forget that."

She paused.

"Don't you have any more questions about it?" Larry asked with an understanding smile.

"Well I… yes, but I didn't know if it was a sore subject."

"I don't mind talking about it." He assured her. "I've accepted things."

"That's good." She gave the first real smile since the visit began. "What did she die from?"

"I don't think the disease has a name." He said. "She had it her whole life; it wasn't contagious, and it made her weak and tired all the time. She would be going about her business when she would get all shaky and pale and woozy, but then all she would have to do is drink some milk."

"Milk?"

"Or eat something sweet, then she would be better.

"How very strange."

He nodded. "I can remember her, looking all thin and white, like one stiff breeze and she'd fall over."

"When did she die?"

"About twenty years ago; when I was two or three. That's why I don't remember her very much."

"I'm really sorry." She said, even though it seemed almost redundant at this point.

"It's fine." Larry assured her. "It's hard to miss something you don't remember having."

"That's the most depressing thing I've ever heard!" She exclaimed.

"Sorry, but it's true." He replied with a shrug. "I don't think I really understood what'd happened at the time; but when I did, it had been a few years and I got used to the way things had changed."

She nodded.

After a few moments of silence, He said. "Y'know, I don't think there's anyone else I can tell that to."

Petunia looked surprised. "No one? Not even your dad?"

Larry shrugged again. "He doesn't like to talk about her; I don't think he's ever really gotten over her dying. I can tell he misses her a lot."

This was a strange thought to her, that Richard Burdock might love someone so much that he would never recover from their demise. "Well, I'm glad you feel like you can talk to me about this."

He reached over and patted her elbow. "Glad I do too."

* * *

"Jeanette! There's dust in the corners; I'll need you to sweep them out. (_tsk!_) The curtains are creased, someone help me get them down, _tout de suite_!"

The Pomodori manor was in an uproar: an emergency top-secret meeting with the Earl, General Turnipus, and Prince Robert was scheduled to take place that evening. Proteus scurried along after the Earl's short, golden-haired wife, trying to keep up with the Countess who tried to do a million things all in one hour. "Milady, take it easy; they're not expecting this to be a grand banquet…"

The woman spun around, glaring sharply through violet-blue peepers. "Take it easy? _Sacre bleu! _ Monsieur Scallion, the Crown Prince himself is going to attend this meeting, is going to sit at my table under my roof; you expect me to let the dust settle and the cook to go lax?"

"I resent that!" Came a Polish accented voice.

They spun around to find the chef holding a dish and spoon. "Oscar; what is it?" The lady of the house asked.

He lifted the spoon. "Just wanted you to try the compote I'm planning for dessert, Milady."

She took the utensil and had a quick nibble. "Non non; it's too grainy." She said shaking her head.

"Then I will fix it." The chef announced cheerfully and whisked himself back to the kitchen.

The woman sighed, rubbing her temple. "Now why can't you be more like him, Proteus?"

Proteus rolled his eyes but said nothing.

His mistress glanced at the clock on the mantle then threw her hands up with a chuff. "_Mon Dieu! _Where is zat husband of mine!?"

"Wherever it is, he'll stay there if he has any sense of self-preservation." The oldest Scallion brother muttered under his breath.

"I heard zat!"

"My lady, the Earl can't be expected to rush when he may be expected to come upon some vital information."

"I know," She conceded. "But I would _sink _zat…"

"Hello?"

A short and stocky, red-haired man dressed in worn wool clothing poked his head through the door way. "I'm not interrupting anything am I?"

"Oh, not at all." Proteus looked relieved.

"Every-sing is a mess." The Countess declared. "_You _have some nerve showing your face in here right now Robert!"

Bob only smiled indulgently. "Nice to see you too Genni. Just let me wash and change then I'll be ready for His Grace the Prince." He blew her a kiss and disappeared behind the doors.

"Genni's" face softened and she gave a sigh of resignation. "Why can't I stay mad at him?"

"Don't look at me." Proteus replied with a grin. "You're the one who married him."

* * *

_Confused? Going, "Aha!"? Good. _

"_Countess," Is the title for the wife of an Earl, not to be confused with the wife of a Count._

_The disease Alice Burdock had is Type 1 Diabetes, which some of you may have figured from the symptoms. Of course they didn't have a name for it back then, but people had it. I've heard that drinking milk (Probably whole milk) is a good way for a diabetic to get their blood sugar back up, and a few people back in the day might have figured this out on their own. _


End file.
